


The Burden of Caring

by itsjustafeelingthatihave



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: A bit of exhibitionism and voyeurism, Aftercare, Angst, Begging, Blood and Injury, Bodily Fluids, Bodily Functions, Brief talks of injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Chronic Pain, Clitoral and general vulva stimulation, Confrontations, Descriptions and talks of female arousal, Descriptions of the male body, Dom/sub Undertones, Dream Sex, Dreams, Edging, Embarrassment, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Repressed, Erotica, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, General hot and cold behavior, Height Kink, Immediate attraction between main characters, Jealousy, Masturbation, Medical Procedures, Near Death Experiences, Negan being intensely and persistently flirtatious, Negan being possessive and protective, Negan showing his softer side, Nudity, Orgasm, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Physical Disability, Physical Restraint, Praise Kink, Reader-Insert, Reader’s character struggling with anxiety, Reader’s character struggling with indecision, Reader’s character struggling with insecurity, Reader’s character struggling with self-doubt, Self-Defense, Self-Insert, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Tension, Sexual acts happening within a dream, Sleep talking, Slow Burn, Smut, Swearing, Talking During Sex, Talks of performing oral sex on a female, Talks of romantic and sexual attraction, Unprotected vaginal sex/penetration, Voice Kink, Walkers (Walking Dead), Weapons, Wet Dream, both are over legal consenting age, large age difference between main characters, marking during sex, orgasm during sleep, reading excerpts from an erotica novel, slight Fear Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 20:18:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16940010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsjustafeelingthatihave/pseuds/itsjustafeelingthatihave
Summary: Negan decides to live up to his title as leader of The Saviors when he finds you at your weakest in the woods. Funny how you were so sure that your life was over until the man with the bat showed up. Now,  Negan wants to make you understand just how good your second chance at life could be if you live it in a little black dress. Like trying to put out a blazing fire with a gallon of gasoline, feigning your disinterest becomes more and more difficult with each passing interaction. But he’s more to you than just the brutal community spearhead with a charming smile. And could it be possible that he sees you as much more than just another conquest?





	1. All Things Considered

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of the pieces that was posted on my Tumblr, before I made this AO3 account. So, I'm currently playing catch up with getting those works posted over here as well. Once everything I've written previously is cohesively posted on here as well, the posting arrangement will be this: As of now, my upcoming works will be posted to Tumblr first, directly followed by its upload to AO3. All of the same fanfictional writing that can be found on my Tumblr will also be available on AO3, and vice versa. The only exception to this is my Roleplay writing and collaborative writing with other Tumblr users. That sort of writing will remain viewable on Tumblr only.)
> 
>  **Here's a snippet of my original author's note on Tumblr for context:** IT IS DONE! Here it is! My baby that I’ve been working on for what seems like forever, haha! This is the first fanfiction I’ve written in around seven years, so sorry if I am a little rusty. This was meant to be my submission for Ash’s Negan Writing Challenge, Round Two. But there’s no question that I’m grossly late (like months and months past the deadline. I know, I’m a horrible person.) But the minute I saw the Negan X Character with a physical disability prompt from that challenge, I knew I had to try and add more fics to the community for my fellow wheelchair-bound Dirty Girls out there, just as other writers have done so beautifully. So, please, let me know if you want more of this plot, and I’ll make it happen!
> 
> **A written rundown of the warnings for this particular chapter (both those tagged and untagged) : Swearing. Brief talks of injury, and near-death experience, medical care, and Walker killing. Immediate attraction between main characters. Large age difference between main characters (***both ARE well above/over legal consenting age, though. Both are over 21 as well***) A touch of what could be perceived as Fear Kink, and a smidge of what could be taken as a sub/DOM dynamic. And Negan being Negan ;).**
> 
> **Other notes:** The presence of a horizontal line break represents the unseen passing of time (the amount of time passed can vary.) Also, I did give the reader the detail of being twenty-two, hope no one minds this. I just felt it fit the story.
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this! If you want to share your thoughts and whatnot with me, I’m all ears! Thank you for taking the time to check out my profile and/or my work, in any capacity you choose to interact with it. Please know, any feedback given is treasured and wholeheartedly appreciated. A big thank you to the people who helped me stay encouraged as I wrote this, and to all who read the finished product. You guys are all amazing. Now, on with the fic. Happy reading!
> 
> Wanna connect elsewhere, or read/interact with my work elsewhere online? You can find me on Tumblr, under the same handle: 'itsjustafeelingthatihave' - This is my personal and fandom blog, so you get a bit of everything over there! 
> 
> **MY FICS ARE INTENDED FOR ADULTS (18+ AUDIENCES) ONLY. THEY WILL BE RATED/TAGGED/GIVEN WARNINGS AS THOROUGHLY AS POSSIBLE. PLEASE HEED ANY AND ALL INFO PROVIDED BEFORE/WHEN READING.**

You should have been dead by now. That was something you knew for certain. You should have been just another slowly rotting corpse on the forest floor. Hell, you were already halfway there when he found you.

It should have been the end. You had lost your family, hadn’t eaten or drank in days, and you were on your last bullet. A bullet you’d have to use on the approaching decomposing woman. Luckily, you didn’t miss. With the little strength you had left, you attempted to yank your tire free from the small pothole in the uneven ground. A move you instantly regretted. Your wheelchair toppled over onto its side, throwing you out of the seat, head hitting the ground with a hard thud. Weak as you were, the trauma brought on a wave of unconsciousness that was fast to pull you under. It was over…Or so you thought.

* * *

You squeezed your eyes shut tightly, not wanting to regain awareness. You couldn’t help but wonder why death hadn’t taken you yet as your most recent memories swirled around in a haze. That was when the realization struck. You were no longer sprawled out in the dirt. You felt a cool smoothness on your cheek, it smelled of leather. Not only were you off the ground, but you were moving, being carried at a brisk pace. These pieces of information fell together in the span of a few seconds, and your body tensed with fear. You tried to vocalize this fright but only produced a strangled yelp. Your body did not appreciate such a sudden exertion, the burn in your throat flaring and muscles screaming in aching protest. Attempting to open your eyes right then was not an option as a migraine pounded through your skull.

“Easy now, you’re safe,” a deep, gravelly male voice said. It was somewhere between a comfort and a command, “You hit your head, and you look like you’ve been fucking camping out on Death’s doorstep.”

You turned your head in an attempt to speak into the man’s ear, taunt stubble brushing the tip of your nose.

“Should…be…dead.” Your words were nothing more than a labored huff.

“Well, shit!” he said. “Can’t say I disagree with you there. But you still have a pulse. It’s faint as hell, but it’s there. And I’m not for the idea of a dead prick using your bones as fucking toothpicks. So, it’s your lucky goddamn day, princess!” He seemed to almost chuckle, but his words held an air of seriousness, of finality. If it weren’t for the injuries and wavering alertness, you would have questioned your apparent knight in shining armor. But there was no point now. You had no fight left.

To your surprise, the man spoke up again after an immeasurable silence.

“We have a doctor. He’ll fix you up. So, stay with it. Because if you stop breathing for even a few fuckin’ seconds, I will not fucking hesitate to drive my knife through your temple and leave you here to fertilize the fuckin’ plants, got it?” He had lost the slight mirth of his previous comment. This wasn’t a threat, it was a promise.

It was your turn to almost laugh. You opened your eyes just enough to see the skin of the still nameless man’s cheek in the darkness of early morning.

“Got it, most kind stranger.” Your croaking was laced with harmless sarcasm. He did save you from being eaten by the reanimated equivalent of vultures, after all. But even through the throbbing pain that was emanating from you, head to toe, you couldn’t help but think that he didn’t need to be so harsh about the whole thing.

A new cloud of exhaustion rolled over you then, your vision blurring. You were headed toward another blackout. The last thing you heard before succumbing to the darkness was your savior’s scoff and mumble about women being, “fuckin’ frustrating,” as he tightened his hold on your now limp frame.

* * *

Without opening your lids, you could feel the healing process in action. The hammering of your headache had faded to only a dull buzzing. Your bones no longer seemed as though they were crumbling from dehydration, no doubt thanks to the IV attached to your right hand.

* * *

As you came to fully, you took in more of the surroundings, eyes still closed. You were propped up in a reclined sitting position on what you guessed was an examination table. Sounds of shuffling feet, the beeping of a monitor, and muffled jazz tunes filled the air. All things considered, this atmosphere was oddly serene. And even more unexpected, your disgruntled hero kept his word. You were definitely in some sort of doctor’s office, the newly blossoming scent of antiseptic further confirming the assumption.

A thought occurred to you in that moment and your heartbeat quickened, the tones of the monitor mimicking its jump. Were you about to come face to face with said rescuer? Why was that such a nerve-wracking possibility?

When you eventually let your eyes flutter open, they were assaulted by a brightly lit room. The windows around the upper perimeter were letting in what appeared to be afternoon sun. You squinted in defense, taking in the makeshift medical facility. You and the doctor were the only occupants of the room. The incessant chirp of the EKG machine slowed.

The middle-aged man in the white coat turned around swiftly to investigate the sudden spike and drop, relief smoothing his creased expression.

“You’re awake! Wonderful!” he spoke lightly, rushing over to the stool next to the exam table.

“I am,” you said, voice cracking as you tried to match his upbeat tone.

“Oh, goodness, let me get you some water.” The doctor stood again and made his way to the small sink, filling a clear, plastic glass. He returned to his seat and placed the cup in your hand.

“Thank you, “ you rasped. The doctor completed the pleasantry exchange and politely waited for you to empty the cup before continuing.

“Let’s try this one more time. I’m Dr. Carson, pleased to meet you. As you can probably tell, you’re in an infirmary. Can I get your name and age?”

“Y/N, twenty-two” you answered, glad to hear your voice returning. A gruff cough punctuated your sentence.

He scribbled the answer on a blank medical chart sitting on the table next to him. “Good, good,” he nodded. “It’s great to have you with us, Y/N. If you don’t mind, I want to do a full-body physical and cranial nerve exam, just to be on the safe side.” You gave the okay and the physician began the necessary procedures.

* * *

It was a miracle, but when all the poking, prodding, and standard patient integration concluded, you had a relatively clean bill of health.

“Well, Y/N, you are one tough cookie!” Dr. Carson smiled as he untangled the stethoscope from around his neck. “However, don’t go too crazy. Right now, you need as much rest, food, and water as you can get.”

“Will do!“ you said, nodding in agreement. Attempting to remove the strand of hair that was plastered to your forehead, you brushed the bruised skin above your eyebrow and audibly winced.

The doctor’s face fell. “Unfortunately, only time can heal that. Let me see if the ice pack is frozen again, it’ll help with the pain and swelling.”

“Again? How long have I been here?” You watched as he walked to the fridge and back.

“You were brought in at around 5 o’clock this morning. It’s just after 2 o'clock now.”

“Oh.”

The doctor handed over the solid pack.

“That’s not as uncommon as you might think,” he assured. “After extended periods of extreme stress, the body will do whatever it can to force you to rest and recuperate. But you were found just in time. And not only that, but you’ve been brought back to a place with access to the wheelchair you require. It’s even powered.” Dr. Carson’s smile had reappeared by the time he finished speaking.

You nearly dropped the ice you were holding to your head, shocked. “A power wheelchair?” you repeated.

“Yes, I was told you might be in need of it, as it looked like you had fallen out of one before you were found. Is that the case?”

Your words bubbled out of you in an excited rush, “Yeah, yeah! I definitely need it! I dunno, I guess I just figured luxuries like that were no longer available anymore, with the way the world is now.”

“Such things are a lot more feasible here, with the numbers to scavenge for them, and the electricity to keep it all up and running.” He paused, seemingly lost in thought, then added, “Mentioning that, would you mind telling me why you’re in need of a wheelchair? I’d like to include that information in your medical record.” He returned to the other side of you and picked up the tan folder, ready to take note of your reasoning.

You gave him the explanation, having told it so many times in the past that it now came together easily.

“I see,” Dr. Carson gave another nod. “So, this disability affects you strictly on the physical spectrum only, correct?”

“Correct.”

“Alright then,” he said, closing the folder and putting the pen back in his coat pocket. “That’s it for the questions and such. Let me just get things put away, and we’ll get you situated with the chair so you can get out of this stuffy office.”

You trained your gaze on the doctor’s back as he strode over to the filing cabinet by the door. Now was your chance to ask the question that had stuck out in your mind since your eyes first opened.

“If you don’t mind me asking, where exactly am I? This place seems so well put together!” You couldn’t help but scan the room again as you waited, still awe-stricken with just how normal it all looked.

Dr. Carson froze for an almost unperceivable second, placing the file inside a drawer and slamming it shut before acknowledging your words.

“The Sanctuary,” he said flatly, not breaking focus as he stiffly carried himself to the sink and removed his latex gloves to wash his hands.

“How fitting,” you said with a smile, looking down at your legs. There was no further input from the doctor, only the hollow clang of water hitting the metal basin over top the static-laden melody still coming from the stereo. You took this silence as an opportunity to present the other unknown that adrenalized your body and brain.

“Dr. Carson?” The flow of the facet stopped sharply.

“Yes?” he finally turned around and looked in your direction. You pulled your attention away from your lap and peered at him earnestly, hoping he had the answer you sought.

“Can you tell me who it was that brought me here? I owe whoever it was a thank you.” You spoke quietly, but confidently.

He opened his mouth to speak, but was abruptly cut off by the echo of heavy footsteps and a two-note whistle filling the once empty hallway. Your head swung to the left, in time to see the source of the sudden noise saunter through the open door.

There wasn’t a single doubt to mull over: This was who you were looking for. This was the man who had found you, saved you. He wore the leather jacket you had rested your cheek upon; the only difference being that a barbed wire wrapped baseball bat was now leaning on his shoulder instead. His scruff was revealed to be salt and pepper in the light, while his inky black hair was neatly slicked back in contrast. The scent of clove and pine floated into the room with him. The man’s tall, slender body shrunk the already cubicle-like area, authoritative charisma filling the space through mere physical presence alone. Dr. Carson all but faded into the paint as the answer to your ponderings stood before you. His eyes locked on yours, unmoving. You could feel the warmth rush to your face instantly. Simply looking at the man felt like a sinful act. And as a dazzlingly wolfish grin spread across his face, it was obvious that he enjoyed being the source of your coy appraisal.

“I’ll be damned,” he said, “Sleeping Beauty has awoken!” He held his arms out wide - bat included - and bent back slightly as if he were announcing the news to the world. The smile on his handsomely aged face never fell, nor did his watchful eye.

The encounter felt overwhelmingly intimate. You broke the staring contest, looking at him from beneath your lashes instead as you unsuccessfully tried to relax in your seat. In response, he did not dial back his energy, only changed its frequency. He tilted his head to the side, surveying your stillness.

“No need to go all shy on me, doll,” he purred. His voice was barely above a whisper as he closed the gap between the door frame and examination table, weaponized bat still one with him. He towered over you; face gone stone cold serious as you looked directly up at him once more. Despite the hard expression, the corners of his mouth twitched upward, and he gave the smallest of nods in appreciation of your compliance. Your heart gave a jagged thump in kind. Thankfully, the EKG machine was no longer hooked to you to give it away. But from the spark in this man’s eyes, it didn’t seem to matter. It was like he sensed it.

“I said you were safe, and I fucking meant that. I’m a lot of things, but a fuckin’ liar ain’t one of ‘em. Remember that.” His tone mirrored the one he held earlier. A promise, laced with a threat. Yet strangely, the jolts rocketing across your neurons were brought on by anything but fear.

He instantly reconnected with the devilish charm he had entered the room with as he opened his mouth to speak again, animated smile and all.

“Ya’ see, my ears, they were burnin’ like hell! So, I came down here to pay you and doc a visit. And, low and behold, you are talking about me! Even better, I hear that you,” he poked a leather-clad finger at you gently, “want to thank me? Je-sus,” he drew out the word happily and stomped his foot in satisfaction. “I’m a damn sucker for someone who minds their fuckin’ manners. Really just tickles my balls pinker than a pig’s ass!”

A faint titter rose up and popped out of you without warning, leaving the flash of a smile in its wake. You pulled yourself together in a snap, nervous about the upcoming reaction. The man standing above you let out another low whistle and tucked his tongue in his cheek, eyes glittering with excitement.

“Wow,” he admired, “finally, someone with a good fuckin’ sense of humor.” He then took a purposefully step back, extending his right hand out to you. You mentally cursed yourself as you placed your trembling hand in his grasp, unable to break away from his dark eyes. He looked like the sort of man who gave an uncomfortably strong handshake, topped off with an icy touch. But that wasn’t the case, quite the opposite, actually. His gloved hand was pleasantly warm, and his hold on your hand was almost seductively tender.

He ran the pad of his thumb over yours slowly, once again stepping closer. He dipped his head so the two of you were nearly cheek to cheek, hands still intertwined. Another new discovery; his breach of your personal space felt nothing like an unwelcome invasion, not in the least.

“To answer your question, the name’s Negan,” his voice rumbled across your eardrum, “and you are?”

“Y/N,” you said, trying to suppress the breathlessness that crept its way into your voice.

You could practically feel the smirk on his lips as he went on, “Y/N, huh?” He said your name as if it were a sweet candy he wished to savor. “That is one hell of a gorgeous name. And as far as that thanks you wanted to give me, you’re damn welcome.” He slowly pulled away, straightening up and retracting his hand from yours. His gaze stayed on you a second more before shooting over your shoulder.

“Carson!” Negan barked, “What the hell are we waiting for? This woman needs to be up and movin’ in her new ride” He bent back and sprung forward again. His eyes slid back to you, head cocked and teeth gleaming when he caught another glimpse of your poorly hidden grin. 


	2. Exhibition of Forbidden Fruit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of the pieces that was posted on my Tumblr, before I made this AO3 account. So, I'm currently playing catch up with getting those works posted over here as well. Once everything I have written previously is cohesively posted on here as well, the posting arrangement will be this: As of now, my upcoming works will be posted to Tumblr first, directly followed by its upload to AO3. All of the same fanfictional writing that can be found on my Tumblr will also be available on AO3, and vice versa. The only exception to this is my Roleplay writing and collaborative writing with other Tumblr users. That sort of writing will remain viewable on Tumblr only.)
> 
>  **Here's a snippet of my original author's note for context:** Before I leave you to read, I want to give some backstory on this chapter, as it’s a bit unique. As you’ll see, this part opens about six months after the conclusion of part one. The first sentence of this chapter is the only action of this part that takes place in the active present. The other 99.9 percent of the piece is told in a reminiscent fashion. Think of this part as Y/N catching you up on how her first six months at The Sanctuary have been. I wanted the first half of this to be written in a sort of, “Montage” style. This is why there’s minimal dialogue in the first half. I kinda view it as a collection of snapshots along the timeline of Negan’s and Y/N’s interaction. In the second half of the chapter, the wholly italicized scene is a direct memory of Y/N’s that you get to fully and completely “relive.” And this memory will immediately lead into part three, where we’ll hop back to the active present. I hope that makes sense. But if it doesn’t, or you have any questions at all, don’t hesitate to contact me! 
> 
>   **A written rundown of the warnings for this particular chapter (both those tagged and untagged) : Reader’s character struggling with indecision, self-doubt, and insecurity. General “hot and cold” behavior. Talks of romantic and sexual attraction. Large age difference between main characters (***both ARE well above/over legal consenting age, though. Both are over 21 as well***) Negan being possessive, protective, and a bit opportunistic. Negan being intensely and persistently flirtatious. A bit of exhibitionism/voyeurism (overhearing only.) Descriptions of the male body. Descriptions/talks of female arousal, masturbation, and orgasm. Negan showing his softer side. Poking a bit of fun at the “classic romance novel.” Negan reading excerpts from an erotica novel. Talks of performing oral sex on a female, as well as marking during sex. More touches of a sub/DOM dynamic. General sexual overtones and teasing, and Negan just being Negan ;).**
> 
>   **Other notes:** The presence of a horizontal line break represents the unseen passing of time (the amount of time passed can vary.) Also, I did give the reader the detail of being twenty-two, hope no one minds this. I just felt it fit the story. AND The library is separate from the main building of The Sanctuary, but they are both on the same grounds/within the premises. 
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this! If you want to share your thoughts and whatnot with me, I’m all ears! Thank you for taking the time to check out my profile and/or my work, in any capacity you choose to interact with it. Please know, any feedback given is treasured and wholeheartedly appreciated. A big thank you to the people who helped me stay encouraged as I wrote this, and all who read the finished product. You guys are all amazing. Now, on with the fic. Happy reading!
> 
>  Wanna connect elsewhere, or read/interact with my work elsewhere online? You can find me on Tumblr, under the same handle: 'itsjustafeelingthatihave' - This is my personal and fandom blog, so you get a bit of everything over there!
> 
> **MY FICS ARE INTENDED FOR ADULTS (18+ AUDIENCES) ONLY. THEY WILL BE RATED/TAGGED/GIVEN WARNINGS AS THOROUGHLY AS POSSIBLE. PLEASE HEED ANY AND ALL INFO PROVIDED BEFORE/WHEN READING.**

You gave your head a little shake in an effort to clear it. You arrived here well over six months ago. But lately, you found yourself swimming in the memories of how this whole situation came to be. It all still felt unbelievable. To be gifted such luck in a world that for so long only dealt blows, it was a wishful mirage for most. In your mind, however, this prosperity came with its own set of pressures. The mounting struggle of self-doubt made you question whether you were worthy of the constant abundance. Everything from the fully furnished room you called home, to the consistently stocked fridge in the attached kitchenette. The luxury stood stark against the ever-present decay beyond the windows and walls. According to compound rules, such things were provided to those with the most important duties. You never felt that your job as librarian, and caregiver to the community’s population of young children, warranted such opulence. It was hard not to feel guilty. You had never been one to take what you didn’t earn. Negan, on the other hand, had immediately insisted upon these amenities in exchange for your offered contribution. He treated it as an open-and-shut case. A decree sealed with his persuasive smile.

Concern about overpayment was not the only guilt you harbored, not the solitary murmur haunting your conscience. It was your attraction to the man who you knew as The Sanctuary’s leader that weighed heaviest on you these days. At first, it was fairly easy to brush these thoughts off as merely mislabeled gratitude for quite literally saving your life. To simply make the excuse that Negan was a veracious flirt, and you were caught off guard by the sudden attention, nothing more. But, despite honest attempts at unshakable conviction, time carved away at the resistance of your desire. Negan had no qualms about openly basking in the victory of your giggly responses to his comments. He also wasted no time in expressing his longing to be the cause of not just your day to day outward joy, but your more private delights as well.

If there was one thing everyone knew about the leader, it was that he never did anything by halves. And his post-apocalyptic courtship tactics were no exception. He’d playfully comer you in the hallways on your way to work, only granting passage once you’d agree to let him escort you there. You never intended on declining the insistence, but it was still fun to give him a bit of a ribbing. Dramatizing your acceptance with a jokingly exasperated sigh and wry smile, he’d take that as cue to proudly lead the way. This opportunity was seized to probe you with questions. You couldn’t lie, you loved this almost daily occurrence, as time spent with Negan was certainly never boring.

When it came to the intention to remain a focal point of your life, efforts expanded far beyond simple conversation. On countless occasions, he would somehow manage to be there right when you needed a helping hand. Whether it be opening a door, lifting something heavy, or just picking up things you’d accidentally dropped, Negan was sure to appear with his signature grin. The man truly was everywhere. And when he couldn’t be there, he made it his mission to secure someone who could be. You were instructed to seek out Frankie - one of his wives - should you need anything. Seeing as she was another woman, who also never left the premises, you were particularly grateful for the necessary aid this mandatory order brought with it. Simon was even told to keep an eye out, should you any extra assistance.

Negan left no need of yours unattended to. It was something everybody noticed. His care seemed so genuine that it was difficult to disregard the building depth of your own affection.

* * *

It didn’t take long for Negan’s offers to become even more alluringly straightforward. His behind-closed-doors propositions, whispered in your ear, left your lids fluttering and your body overtaken by anticipatory goosebumps. These encounters left you tossing and turning night after night, at war with the angel and devil on their respective shoulders. It would be so easy to give in to the lust completely. Thusly letting him fulfill his promise to, in his words, “blow your fuckin’ mind, and make sure you are well fuckin’ taken care of in every way I can provide.”

The hardest part of waving off his words was knowing that he wasn’t just talking himself up. He would deliver. You were confronted with this truth on the many nights you chose to work late. It was a reminder that floated about as soon as you’d roll out from between the elevator’s opened panels. Along with the whining hinges of your door, this was a common greeting you stumbled upon in the evenings, and well into the burnings of midnight oil. One of Negan’s many wives, calling his name as they climaxed at the end the of the adjoining corridor.

He was a man who knew exactly what he was doing. And he wanted to ensure that you knew of his tireless talent as a provider. The position of your apartment was telling evidence in favor of this strong inkling. Yours was the only individual lodging area on the top floor of The Sanctuary. The rest of the sprawling uppermost level was dedicated to an entire wing shared by Negan and the wives. The only thing separating these two places of residence was that infamous, stretched hallway and a set of large, oak double doors. It was his way of enticing you, keeping you as close as possible without lifting a finger. Setting you up just outside his gates, leaving you to be an accidental eavesdropper on his revelry. It was a curated exhibition of forbidden fruit. With the elevator allowing you to make an exit stage left, and Negan’s always open invitation ready to welcome at the right, you called the crossroads of your dilemma home. Yes, it was less an inkling, and more of an obvious fact.

This was all the more confirmed when he decided to come knocking; when yet another passionately loud romp with the wives had finally simmered down into sleepy silence. On par with his usual peacock-esque display, he happily wandered around your room wearing nothing but a pair of loosely fitting sweatpants. They hung from his hips in a way that left hardly any of his delicately sculpted muscle to the imagination. The single layer of navy fabric was all that hid the unabashedly prominent, masculine outline of his lower half.

Determined to keep this an eye contact only endeavor, you firmly affixed your stare heavenward, on his face. This would have been easier to execute if it weren’t for the juxtaposition of his tall stature and your seated eye line. Trying to calm the simmering temperature of your cheeks was impossible. All you could hope for was a dampening effect, reflected in the minimally lit space.

Negan gave a smug apology for keeping you up with all his, “fuckin’ ruckus.” Visibly tickled by the double entendre, a giddy grin crinkled the corners his eyes.

You had rolled your eyes harmlessly, failing to stop your own lips from curving upward in kind. Playing along, you absolved him of the falsified worry. You told him you were probably as worn out as he was, whilst trailing him back to the threshold. Apparently sated by the knowledge that you were indeed overhearing his exploits, he let you show him the door without much protest.

He left on the note of a smoky chuckle and parting, “Sweet dreams, Y/N.”

No, you couldn’t lose your resolve. You planned to carry on contributing and showing appreciation via the work you were capable of doing. You weren’t looking reap benefits without paying back into the cycle. You felt you owed Negan that much. After such a rare second chance at life, you felt you owed yourself that much, too. You could surely continue truncating your lingering affections until they were but a flickering remembrance. You could dismiss the deadlocked standoff of your confliction.

You had managed to anchor to this stubborn internal mantra with flimsy petulance. That is, until the aforementioned sweet dreams enveloped your unconscious. The spearhead of The Saviors now held claim over the wanderings of your sleeping mind. His pull was relentless. A dizzyingly hypnotic orbit. When you finally fell into a restless sleep each night, your brain ran wild with the fulfillment of chronically repressed urges. Like clockwork, you’d awaken to the sound of your own dazed voice whimpering his name into the void of a pillow.

The walkie-talkie on your nightstand was the ultimate siren song. Negan had all but demanded that you keep said radio on you at all times, in case you ever required immediate aid with anything. Once again, the firm words left no room for opposition. He also wasn’t the least bit subtle in letting you know that if you needed him specifically, he could be reached privately at any time through the second channel of the walkie.

With an aching core, made slick with wanting, it was torturous to remain grounded while laying there in a dreamy rush. You could make it happen in a matter of minutes. Grab the radio, slam down the button that would connect you to Negan, and beg him for his… Help. But for countless nights, you managed without, busying fingers beneath the cotton sheet. Vehemently telling yourself that you didn’t need him, the pattern of your digits zeroed in on the begrudging finale. However, these resolute thoughts would continuously break free, drifting to the wish of it being his hands caressing your most delicate skin. That wisp of a fantasy was often all it took to do the temporary trick. It was nowhere near the wanted satisfaction, but it was enough to hamper impulsivity. It gave you the fortitude to roll over, and turn away from temptation.

Without a doubt, Negan did manage to give you the inspiration he’d hoped to.

* * *

You _gilded over to the library’s Returns cart and back to the newly cleared shelving unit. The low buzz of your wheelchair matched with the rhythmic tapping of Negan’s combat boot on the cement floor. He was in his usual spot. That being the seat closest to wherever your main workspace was for the day. Today, that placed him at a table in the middle of the open concept, bungalow style library. He made the plastic chair look comfortable as he lounged with his other motionless foot balanced atop the opposite bouncing knee. His jacket, gloves, and scarf were in a heap on the table next to him._

 _Recently, Negan enjoyed using his free time in the mornings to not only oversee your_ commute, _but also shadow you once arrived, if his schedule allotted. He claimed to be there just in case an extra pair of hands was needed. You upheld that your reasoning for letting him stay prior to daily opening was simply based on his executive status, and the minor inclusion of the helping hand being nice in some instances._

_As you stole a sideways glance, catching his intrigued stare fixed on you from above an open magazine; it was increasingly solidified that you would never turn down the company. You hastily returned attention to the process of taking books from the stack on your lap and placing them neatly in the bookcase. You were thankful for the activity, seeing as it hid your eyes, kept them from reflecting what was being pushed aside. Despite the cold weather outside, a full body flush mercilessly crept upward._

_You were used to having to avert your eyes from Negan on an all too regular basis. But today, your willpower was being put to an especially arduous test. Maybe it was because he managed to look like he belonged in an upscale fashion add, even in casual clothes. Dusty gray jeans, and a black knit sweater that hugged the defined contours of his torso. This was further complimented by the tattoos peeking through pushed up sleeves, and a pair of black, thick-rimmed readers in front of his eyes. You couldn’t help but wish you had a camera to capture the moment. Keeping your eyes on the duties at hand felt like a pitiful waste._

_You let out an audible huff of exertion as you put your hand on your knee, forcing yourself back into an upright sitting position after having stooped to place a novel on the bottom shelf._

_Negan’s voice broke through the stillness without pause, “Is it okay if I help you with that, doll?” You were surprised by the candor in his words, what you could have sworn was a trace of… Anxiety?_

_You looked his way again. His expression was overtaken by careful appraisal and tense brows. Something heavy tugged roughly at your heart. You cleared your throat in an attempt to be rid of the pressure._

_“Umm, sure. If you’d like to.“ You offered a soft smile to ease him._

_“I would very much like to. If you’ll allow me,” he clarified, tension loosening._

_Your smile remained welcomingly affirmative, as did the partnered nod. You moved parallel to the case in a gesture of acceptance, “Could you grab some of those for me, please?” You spoke rather tentatively. It felt strange to give Negan direction. But he seemed to have no problem with it as he sprung up and followed your finger to the corner of the room, where books were waiting in towering stacks._

_“Told you keeping me around would come in handy. I’m glad you’re finally using me. And this isn’t even my full fuckin’ potential, darlin’,” he threw a sly wink over his shoulder as he walked to the closest pile. His set of jovial dimples resurfaced alongside the statement._

_Breathy laughter escaped you as he came back with both arms full. You took books out of his hold two at a time, wanting to relieve him of the burden. He seemed to settle back into peaceful watching._

_You were the one to break the silence this time._

_“Negan?” you paused your work for a minute to catch his hooded gaze._

_“Hmm?”_

_“Thank you.”_

_Sincerity burned through you. For all the work he put in to make this corpse-ridden hellscape livable for so many, it was never received with true gratitude. Sure, he was respected by all, and feared by most. But he was never genuinely thanked. Yes, his leadership could run severe, even brutally pragmatic, if it fit the bill. But in the grand scheme of things, his iron fist was never brought down causelessly. There were rules. And admittedly, these rules, these tactics, accumulated supply wealth and general safety unlike anywhere else. Did you agree with his every strategy? No, certainly not._ Still _though, you also knew that Negan wasn’t just some demonic brute bent on pure violence, either. In this chaos, he was trying to do what most others were afraid to, lead and rebuild. Lack of acknowledgment when it came to the man’s achievements and overall human qualities left you greatly irritated, it had for a while now. And, as you reached out to touch the back of his hand momentarily, you hoped he knew you were thanking him for a lot more than just his support in the current activity._

_Uncharacteristically, Negan said nothing, giving only a courteous dip of the chin in response. His molten stare clung to you, backlit by a cocktail of understanding and hushed carnality. Your breath hitched as an effervescent tingle flourished between your legs._

_There were a few minutes of quiet again as tomes were placed in their new home, and Negan approached with another group of reads._

_“So, have you read all these yet?” he asked, relaxed airiness clear in his tone._

_“Nope, not yet,” you sighed wistfully. “I’ve been busy adding them to the collection record and making space for them here. But_ hopefully _I’ll get to them soon. I still can’t believe Simon found that bookstore. He told me it was basically untouched, even after all this time. Talk about a dream come true,” you added, throwing another small smile in his direction._

_Equivalent wonderment could be heard in the answering ask, “Have you always been such a bookworm?”_

_“Yeah, definitely,” you said. Staring at the bookcase distractedly, you shuffled the new inhabitants of the shelves around until they were in accordance with your preferred organizational method. “I’ve always been passionate about books. They made good times_ great, _and created an escape when times got tough. That’s something I believe and appreciate even more these days. That’s why I love working in here. I like being able to help bring that same bit of peace to_ others, _if I can.” You adjusted a row of books, straightening all their spines in one fluid motion._

_“Damn, I didn’t know I had such a poet on my hands. You tryin’ to pull at my heartstrings?”_

_You expected to be lashed with sarcasm and mockery, but on the contrary, his voice held a touch of awe and flirtation instead._

_You couldn’t suppress the exuberance that adorned your features, turning your focus back to Negan. “No, just being honest with you. And you might wanna be careful, letting it slip that you have heartstrings to pull,” you shrugged lightheartedly, winking at him for a change._

_“Well, will you look at that?” he boomed excitedly, “The studious beauty’s got sass, too! Maybe you’re right. That’ll need to stay squarely between us, then.” His flawless smile stretched from ear to ear. You failed to hide your grin and laughter behind your hand._

_“And that fucking beautiful laugh is nothin’ less than the goddamn cherry on top,” he continued, dropping his voice to let the compliment dance around the enclosed space._

_You tried to ignore the heatwave that befell you again, biting your lip and redirecting your eyes to the bookshelf._

_You heard a barely there snicker from the right. He knew the impact he had on you, just as well as you did. You continued retrieving material from his grasp, putting up a front of being utterly taken with your task_.

* * *

This _streamlined workflow persisted, soon fading into comfortable monotony. Negan bringing you books, and you storing them away. The otherwise stagnant air was decorated with the whistles and humming of the man at your side. He was a pillar of patience, openly unperturbed by what others may classify as mundane. Occasionally, he would break his tune to ask a question regarding a newly shelved piece, or to offer help in reaching an area that forced your body to strain. Time advanced without much other interruption. Before long, the massive case had just a handful of vacant slots, and the final little haul of new arrivals was being delivered to you._

* * *

_Without taking your eyes off the literary arrangement, you finally moved to grab the last book from Negan’s hands. However, he held it out of reach. Confused, you glanced over to see him leering at the cover._

_“What do we have here?” he questioned gleefully. The mischievous glint in his eye was blinding as he revealed the source of his outburst._

_The cover of the novel was outlined with bright red roses growing around a stone archway. Directly in the center, the couple clearly set to be the main characters was scandalously posed. The woman was draped in a lavish purple gown, her head tossed back in the throes of intensity. The man’s body was curved over hers, holding her up as he pressed a kiss to the column of her throat. It was the epitome of a laughably cheesy romance cover, complete with a shirtless man and forgettable title._

_“Am I correct in saying that this,” he turned the book back towards himself, “is one of those naughty little stories you ladies enjoy, when you’re all nestled in bed at night?” he teased. He bent to speak near your ear, though the two of you were the sole occupants of the building. “The ones_ y'all _save for when you’re alone, and no one can see what you’re doing under those blankets?”_

 _“Actually,” you were determined to stay nonchalant as you swerved around him and came to a stop behind the long table near the double-door entrance, “I’ve always found that genre to be a tad cliché. It starts to feel like once you’ve read one, you’ve read them all. But yes, many people do enjoy that type of fiction. And more power to them. Those stories just aren’t for me, I guess.” You smiled curtly at Negan as he spun around. Looking up from the check-ins and check-outs log for a fraction of a breath, you then tracked his movements in_ periphery _._

_Following your trajectory, Negan began taking steps to your new post. “Ah, I see,” he spoke slowly. “Well Y/N, as they say, you never know until you try. This one might do it for ya’.” He rocked on his heels animatedly._

_“Might tickle your fancy,” he sang. His eyes were suggestive slits. Before you could construct a coherent response, he raised his pointer finger and tapped his temple twice._

_“I’ve got an idea! A damn good one, too. “What if,” he delayed with suspensory flare, “I read some to you?” He said this like it was the most life-changing revelation since the discovery of fire. And considering the sparks flitting across your skin at the pitch alone, maybe he wasn’t far off. He was already too riled up by his own genius to wait for your input. “Yeah,” he approved, “I’m a firm believer in the fact that a story is fuckin’ nothin’ without a polished presentation and captivating narration.”_

_It was clearly too late to put the brakes on this train of thought. But the words of encouragement came tumbling out in a tangle of bemused laughter before you could restrain yourself, "By all means, read away. As a librarian, it’s part of my job to promote the joys of reading, in all forms and mediums.”_

_Chancing a prolonged look from_ overtop _the shield of a notebook, you saw the smirk on Negan’s lips, his eyebrows wiggling slightly. “So glad you agree with me, doll.” He backed up a couple feet from the desk._

_“Now, to find a good part,” he pondered aloud, pacing measured lines. Flipping pages with the usual showmanship, he abruptly stopped once something deemed interesting was found._

_He readjusted his spectacles, transferring the book to a one-handed hold. Before beginning, he cleared his throat and smoothed his facial hair. The minute his mouth opened, you_ were swept _away in the provocative words, unable to stop your toes from curling. Okaying this storytelling session had been a mistake. An amazing mistake._

_“Ivan held Lillian close to him, eager to feel every inch of her skin on his own.”_

_Negan glanced up from the text, and when he caught your eyes scanning him, he proceeded._

_“The King had for so long wished to have her like this. But until this very night, she had rejected him, pushing her own desire away as well. He hoped for nothing less than the gift of calling her his Queen. He had kept this wishful flame alight within himself since the very first time his unforgiving eyes connected with her compassionate gaze. And now, having finally confessed, and brashly acted on her true feelings, Ivan was going to treat his most radiant Lillian like the breathtaking royalty she would soon be. Though she didn’t need a crown to be a diamond in his eye.”_

_Negan came to another agonizing halt, inspecting you with laser-like precision. No additional persuasion was needed. You gave in to his unspoken command for your mind and body’s undivided engagement. As much as you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, you were shackled by this little show. When he fell back into the performance, his voice was_ silk, _and filled with intent._

 _“He explored her body with gentle, but assured hands. Their lips only parted long enough for Lillian to whisper his name to the darkness, desperate and ready. Oh, how the King_ reveled _in his lady’s cries of pleasure. Bodies entwined, he intended on giving her all the love she so rightly deserved, in every way he could. He had yet to enter her, but_ ever _still, a beautifully bare, feminine form flexed wantonly in his grasp. Ivan pinned Lillian to the plush mattress. Leaving her mouth, he trailed kisses down her front, each one a branding on her overheated flesh. He did not stop until he reached the never before_ touched _territory of her ultimate tenderness.”_

_By the time he concluded the paragraph, the sound of your pen nervously pattering against the wooden table was a metronome throughout the room. You tore your eyes away with violent quickness. You tried to reassemble composure as he closed the yellowing paperback and leisurely made his way back to the counter._

_“_ Ho-ly _smokes!” he fanned himself theatrically with the bound bundle of pages, before slapping it down on the tabletop with equal zeal. “Things were gettin’ pretty fuckin’ hot and heavy there just now, wouldn’t you say?” Negan leaned over, put both elbows on the desk, and placed his chin within cupped palms. He had a pleased as punch look about him. You were so close in proximity that you could smell the cinnamon mint on his breath. It took all the self-control you possessed to keep your eyes on the penned details of the depository log. He released a jestful, dreamy sigh to reinforce his commentary._

_“Oh, for sure. I could hardly contain myself,” you said, feigning disinterest. It would have been more believable if the hiccup of a giggle hadn’t marred your closing word. You felt the smile of your observer grow evermore cocky._

_“Oh, I’m well aware of that. I could tell,” he mirrored your cadence but energized it with his own delighted hubris._

_You began sloppily scrawling the titles of newly-shelved literature on date inserts, trying to avoid your slip-up._

_Negan started again, stretching over the desk further. “Ya’ know,” he let his words hang there for a second, “I really like that Ivan fella. Probably because he, like me, knows how to treat a woman. A real gentleman does a lot more than just fuck his lady. He tastes every bit of her. Like he’s been starved without her. A real man makes sure she feels every kiss, every lick, every movement of his mouth. Makes sure she feels like the precious delicacy she is. Hell, that may be my new fuckin’ motto,” he growled. “Treat ‘er like royalty; eat 'er like royalty.”_

_Your head whipped to latch onto him, wide-eyed. He pushed himself back to standing, self-satisfaction imparted on his very aura, tongue tracing over his bottom lip. Your pen jumped out of your hand and hit the floor with an almost inaudible click._

_“Negan, please!” you yipped imploringly. Frantically, you hoped he would cool, so the developing spot of precursory lubrication in your panties would cease its spread. You locked your muscles, berating your body for its flagrant betrayal as well._

_He closed his eyes in gratification, swaying from side to side. “Mmmmm,” he let out a ravishingly lascivious groan. “You’ve never said my name like that before,” he noted, tone_ gone _velvet once more. Hazel eyes narrowed with enticing curiosity, “Please what, Y/N?” Tell me what you want. I’ll make it happen. You just gotta say the word.” A challenge of sorts. An opening on all fronts._

_You dove deep into the sensual inclination of his statement. It reverberated through you. Thankfully, a tangible answer arose from the impassioned delirium. Not exactly a witty quip, but the best change in topic that your flustered senses could manage on the spot._

_“I-I have a lot of, uh, other work to, to do today._ B-boring _stuff,_ real-ly _. I’m sure you’re needed elsewhere,” you reasoned, stuttering and sputtering slightly. You filled your lungs and then let them decompress, face falling back to its easygoing default. You were glad to be seated, as it made the clench of your thighs less detectable. How much longer could you keep up the façade of not ultimately wanting what he proposed? How much longer could you conceal the yearning to say yes?_

_Negan looked like he was about to retort, but thought better of it. “Un-fucking-fortunately, you’re right again,” he grunted. “It is about time for me to do my morning rounds of the market level.”_

_Engaging the joystick control of your wheelchair, you swiveled to confront him as he meandered to your side of the dividing furniture piece, and plucked the fallen pen off the ground._

_“Unless of course, you need me to stay,” he contradicted emphatically, handing over the writing utensil, and peering down at you piercingly._

_“I think I can handle it from here. But thanks again!” Your words were confident now, but the congenial nature of them was unmistakable. You nudged his leg gently with the edge of your left footrest to get him moving. He eyed your shoe with an upturned mouth before rotating his step in agreement._

_“I know you can handle all this. And any other shit, for that matter. I don’t doubt that for a fuckin’ minute, no ma'am,” he promised. Gathering his belongings from where they still lay across the table hosting the now emptied char, a sultry hue shaded his vow. It was gasoline and a lit match in your system. His trust in your ability to take care of yourself was an untouchable compliment. And an unrivaled turn-on._

_You escaped from the confines of the banquet-style desk with acute swiftness, beating Negan to the door as you came to a_ brake _beside it. He put his right glove on, shoving the other in the pocket of his jeans before moving to join._

_“I’m just reminding you,” he went on, taking the last few steps to the exit and pivoting to look you in the eye, “that should you ever need me for any damn thing, I’ll come fucking running.” His tone had morphed into a strikingly tranquil, yet dominate clarity by the time he arrived at the end of his sentence. He reached down to trace the corner of the walkie-talkie fastened to your belt loop with his gloved finger. His dark orbs slid from his own hand to your eyes, his stare fierce enough to bore a hole through you. “You know that, right?” he pressed, his whole manner a reflection of the same stern placidity._

_You gave a fervent nod, “Yes, I do.” Your words were faint and_ subdued, _but secured by grateful serenity. Goosebumps pricked your skin, as they always did when in Negan’s presence. You had to get him out of here before you did something rash. This sincere, protective surge was a reaction you’d never seen so explicitly in him. It was kindling for the fire that ravaged your every nerve._

_The solemn shadow cast on Negan vanished. “Good,” he praised, eyes gleaming as bright as his accomplished smile. Without another word, he gently took your chin in his thumb and forefinger, the hide coating them supple. You froze as he bowed inward, and placed a kiss on your forehead. You could distinctly feel the beam of success brimming over his lips as he did so. The minor bristle of scruff was deliciously contrasted by a yieldingly docile mouth. In terms of physical contact, this was the most affectionate exchange the two of you had ever shared. It took all the sobriety you could muster to stifle an enraptured tremor._

_He prolonged the stay of his lips on your skin for a fast evaporating heartbeat before adjusting his stance vertical._

_Without looking away from your now demure eyes, he grabbed Lucille from where she was docked, with grip at the ready. He swung the lethal lady over his shoulder with ease. His trademark jacket and wine-red scarf hung picturesque together over the other arm._

_“Also,” he reprised, foot poised to kick the steel door open from its position ajar. “I do hope that I’ve managed to,” he hesitated as if searching for the perfect word, “inspire you to,” another luxuriously thoughtful interlude and peeking smile, “give that book a shot.” He then let out a breath, parodying seriousness, "Because,_ as _The Sanctuary librarian, you should know the golden rule of never judging a book by its cover.”_

_You couldn’t reign in the laugh that fell out of you in response to his astute act. The growing reveal of happiness created indents in your cheeks,” I suppose everyone can become a critic if we aren’t careful. You have a very good point.”_

_Negan careened backward and immediately bounced forward, “Damn right I do!” he said, that burst of his grin making an extended stay._

_“And if you’re not feeling up to reading to yourself, it would be a privilege to read to you some more. Really get that imagination a’ flowin’,” he whispered, an example of his definitively salacious chivalry. He was angled in close to you_ again, _like he was telling you a closely guarded secret._

_Before you could brush off the offer, Negan laughed quietly as he forced the door open, attention pointed at the paved courtyard._

_He looked back at you, brows knit._

_“You cold, doll?” he blurted, changing lanes on a dime. You could swear that same oddly protective undertone manifested in the question. But maybe you just flat out misheard what he said._

_“Am I cold?” Confusion was written all over your face._

_“Yeah,” he confirmed, his head inclined toward the unveiled gray sky and rain that was picking up speed. “It’s colder than The Winter Warlock’s ball sack out there, and it’s not much better in here. There’s no way in hell you’re warm enough in here, so don’t even try to bullshit me.” He spoke evenly, as though the evidence he presented was incontestable._

_There was no use in playing it off as untrue. He was spot-on, in fact. The Sanctuary, being a once-abandoned factory, wasn’t always warm and toasty. Especially not on already stormy days such as this._

_“I mean, sure, it can get a little breezy in here. But it’s nothing unbearable,” you shrugged and gave a weak smile, still bewildered by where he was going with this. Subconsciously, you fiddled with the sleeves of your pull-over._

_He nodded silently as he had earlier, having made an unspoken decision. “You may be okay with being cold, but I’m not okay with you turning to ice in this fuckin’ freezer of a room.”_

_Leaving no space for you to reiterate that it was nothing to worry about, Negan let the door slam shut and returned to hover above you. With his unencumbered hand, he took you by the shoulder, gingerly guiding your upper body forward._

_“Negan, what are you-“_

_This repositioning allowed him the space to drape his unzipped jacket behind your back. Still employing only one hand, he tucked the coat around your_ body, _and took a step back. Drinking you in, he made no effort to mask the high brought on by the sight of you wearing his clothing. Something that belonged to him alone._

_You assessed the worn leather in pure astonishment, examination then shifting to Negan. “You’re letting me borrow your jacket?” you asked, eyebrows rose incredulously. He held his eyes on you for another beat before answering._

_“Yup.” The word was enunciated with contentment. A new closed-lip smile played on his face, humored by your disbelief._

_“Can I ask why?”_

_He exhaled, happy with himself, “_ Like _I said before, darlin’, I’m a fuckin’ five-star gentleman.” Again, Negan’s smirk exploded into a full-blown showcase of teeth._

_Another inquiry pushed to the front of your overcrowded thoughts. A knot cinched in your abdomen. Lowering your head, you looked up at him through the curtain of your lashes, willing them to obscure the insecurity. The newly blossomed bashful warmth in your cheeks curled around your cautious words. “I appreciate it. But… Won’t your wives be upset if they see me with this?”_

_The sound that left him was somewhere in the realm of a chortle and a scoff. He spared a passing glance at his feet before refocusing to reply. “You put way too much stock in how they feel about me. Don’t worry so damn much. Shit’s bad for your health. And so is getting fuckin’ frostbite. So, just wear it.” he said, verging on reassurance._

_His plummeting reaction made you want to further seek what he meant about his wives, but it also felt impolite to pry. Regardless, reading the sudden hard-set line of his lips and stone plea in the accompanying stare, it would have been a fruitless venture anyway._

_Instead, the pitter-patter of rain beating against tin shingles brought another dilemma to the surface. “What if you get cold, though?” You had intended to say this in fun, but true concern accidentally bled through. After all, Negan was only human, too._

_“Well, then,” he said, familiar dangerous charm and vigor returned to the forefront. These emotions were amplified with each drum of fingers across the wooden handle of his weaponized companion. “I guess I’ll have to_ come _hunt you down and take it back_ then, _if that’s the case.” His solution was tantalizingly torrid grit. Negan aimed the business end of Lucille at you teasingly, “So, watch your ass, princess. Because I certainly will be,” he warned, the edge of his tongue sliding along his teeth._

_You looked away fleetingly to disguise the deepening smolder and bitten-back smirk._

_Steeling yourself, you realigned your eyes with the man in front of you. Hints of satire accented your mellow demeanor. The answering remark, however, shot out of you like a bullet._

_“Technically speaking, Negan, the only time you see me is when I’m in my chair. So, you can’t even see my ass to watch it. You’re gonna have to get more creative than that,” you said, fighting a bouncy laugh._

_You knew you shouldn’t be toeing the line with him like this; you were breaking all your own rules. But you also couldn’t deny the shock of pride that branched through you when seeing his dazzled expression. You felt your personal set of guidelines progressively splinter under the trembling arousal._

_The reciprocal chuckles from your audience of one were like plumes of steam, rumbling purrs in the chill. Music to your ears._

_“Goddamn” he marveled with a taken aback breath, stomping his foot in exhilaration. “You’re so fiery sometimes. Christ, I fuckin’ love that…”_

_His irises were nearly glowing with ardor, rendering you helpless in the vice of his visual fixture. The lightning strikes of energy circled him, a vortex. And you wanted so badly to chase the storm, to become one with it_ in _the moment. You were completely enamored with this cyclone of a survivor. That was surely the reason he’d made it this long. Because nothing can wholly extinguish_ you, _if you become the exquisite, impending whirlwind itself._

_Negan took off his glasses, hanging them from the small V-neck of his collar. Letting his head fall into a canted position, he looked you over, pearlescent grin folding into an even more promising smirk. He pounced, obliterating the empty space between your bodies in a short stride, and letting Lucille swoop back to the floor. His movements were premeditatively unhurried. He propped his well-armored bat against the side of your chair and let his scarf slip, hands made free to brace himself on the outer edges of your armrests. He held mid-kneel, face to face with you. You were caged in on all sides, but it wasn’t unpleasantly restrictive. You magnetized to him, reminded of the limbo of moths and open flames._

_Your nails bit into the stiff covering of your arm supports as you sat up completely. You could almost feel his sweater bunched in your fists, almost feel the heat of his breath inside your mouth. You were but an inch from him when he changed paths, placing his lips to your ear._

_“Oh, I would love to get creative with, and for you, Y/N,” Negan hissed eagerly. “I’ll repeat myself. Third time’s the charm and all that. You just gotta say the word, and I’m here. But if you’re after a more artful, tactile thought of mine, may I say how much I want your fingernails dug into my shoulders, instead of those armrests?” His fingertips grazed your knuckles._

_The intoxicating smoke of your inner blaze was thick with this unapologetic bluntness. His brazen suggestions resonated as a lustrous afterimage. Your feminine interior jolted with a singular, supplicating spasm. A ragged inhale escaped your slacken lips reflexively._

_Negan gave a throaty, knowing laugh, “What can I fuckin’ say? You inspire all my best ideas.”_

_He corrected his posture, radiating potency, and overtly thrilled to leave you reeling._

_Before you could summon your vocal ability, he had snatched Lucille and the fallen scarf, readying himself to depart once more. He pulled the door open a sliver and looked back at you._

_“Keep that jacket warm for me, darlin’. Please,” he said. Giving a final influx of brightness, he disappeared through the door and into the cascading rain. A gust of stinging wind whizzed across your skin, yanking you back to reality. As the door rushed shut, you glimpsed Negan tossing his scarf around his neck, a splash of color in the blusterous gloom. The clink of the door’s closing latch hit your eardrums with a high-pitched ring._

_You sat in the now empty library, frustratingly speechless, and unwillingly craving Negan’s return._


	3. Needle In A Haystack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of the pieces that was posted on my Tumblr, before I made this AO3 account. So, I'm currently playing catch up with getting those works posted over here as well. Once everything I have written previously is cohesively posted on here as well, the posting arrangement will be this: As of now, my upcoming works will be posted to Tumblr first, directly followed by its upload to AO3. All of the same fanfictional writing that can be found on my Tumblr will also be available on AO3, and vice versa. The only exception to this is my Roleplay writing and collaborative writing with other Tumblr users. That sort of writing will remain viewable on Tumblr only.)
> 
> **Here's a snippet of my original author's note for context:** I want to say that this chapter is dedicated to letsby on Tumblr! And I know I said in the last chapter that there would be no more flashbacks, but, things changed. To help keep timelines clear, I mapped out the order of events in “End Notes” below. I highly suggest reading the timeline before reading the chapter itself. It is very necessary! 
> 
> **A written rundown of the warnings for this particular chapter (both those tagged and untagged) : Swearing. A scene of confrontation/physical violence and attempted defense. Descriptions of physical injury, chronic pain, fatigue, blood, and weaponry. Reader’s character struggling with anxiety, indecision, self-doubt, and insecurity. General “hot and cold” interest/behavior. Talks of romantic and sexual attraction, and brief descriptions of a sexual fantasy. Large age difference between main characters (***both ARE well above/over legal consenting age, though. Both are over 21 as well***) Negan being possessive, protective, and a bit jealous. Negan being persistently flirtatious/teasing. Descriptions/talks of female arousal. Negan showing his softer side. More touches of a sub/DOM dynamic. Height/size/size difference kink. Emotionally charged situations. General sexual overtones and teasing, and Negan just being Negan ;).**
> 
> **Other notes:** Other Notes: The presence of a horizontal line break represents the unseen passing of time, or a scene break (the amount of time passed in this break can vary.) AND The library is separate from the main building of The Sanctuary, but they are both on the same grounds/within the premises, as described. Also, the character of Dean that I reference/introduce can be found in TWD Episodes, “The Damned,” “How It’s Gotta Be,” and “The Lost and the Plunderers.” I assume you guys remember Alden and Regina, as well. Within the fic, bolded text is used to represent written notes, and italicized text is used to represent a “relived” flashback.
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this! If you want to share your thoughts and whatnot with me, I’m all ears! Thank you for taking the time to check out my profile and/or my work, in any capacity you choose to interact with it. Please know, any feedback given is treasured and wholeheartedly appreciated. A big thank you to the people who helped me stay encouraged as I wrote this, and all who read the finished product. You guys are all amazing. Now, on with the fic. Happy reading!
> 
> Wanna connect elsewhere, or read/interact with my work elsewhere online? You can find me on Tumblr, under the same handle: 'itsjustafeelingthatihave' - This is my personal and fandom blog, so you get a bit of everything over there!
> 
>   **MY FICS ARE INTENDED FOR ADULTS (18+ AUDIENCES) ONLY. THEY WILL BE RATED/TAGGED/GIVEN WARNINGS AS THOROUGHLY AS POSSIBLE. PLEASE HEED ANY AND ALL INFO PROVIDED BEFORE/WHEN READING.**

The delicate skitter of pages along the back of your hand reeled in lax attention once more. A complete collection of William Shakespeare’s work sat on the table in front of you. The weighty anthology had flopped closed, as though annoyed by your lack of focus.

You stared blankly at the embossed cover design. A painted portrait of the poet and playwright maintained seemingly paralleled apathy. The book itself was truly a thing of beauty, with its decorative binding and elegantly gilded pages. On any other night, you would have been in awe of the careful craftsmanship put into this literary edition. On any other night, you would have been endlessly adrift in the words of beloved classics. But not tonight.

With head falling lazily against your wheelchair’s headrest, a final pillar of bodily strength crumbled to the ground. The library was drowned in an increasingly intolerable silence, apart from the buzz of fluorescent lights above, and your persistent thoughts. Letting tried eyes close, attempted hush feebly opposed the gnawing sensation that something was wrong.

“There’s nothing to worry about, these things take time. He can take care of himself,” you said aloud, speaking into the quiet.

Maybe it was useless, but there was hope that by verbalizing this reassurance of self, it would somehow quell the mounting unease of the last few days. At this point, anything to counter the worst-case-scenario nightmare was needed.

Ignoring all restraint when opening your eyes, they immediately found the vacant chair opposite you. Negan had last filled that seat five days prior. But time was tumbling onward in eerie disconnect. A scouting weekend had now stretched into days of radio silence.

His impromptu reading session had been the last time he’d visited this area of The Sanctuary. Recollections of his desired presence trapped an air pocket in your lungs. Despite craving distraction in place of nostalgia, your vision continued its search for reminders. The most recent token could be found on the nearest shelf. The novel that had inspired said presentation stood amongst the rows, capturing your gaze briefly, before finally relinquishing it to the book in front of you.

Your fingertip laced through a maze of textured filigree adoring the cover’s edge. Upon the pattern’s completion, your palm fell back to the cool tabletop.

* * *

Pale _morning light poured in from the windows, creating a series of spotlights on the floor. The clattering of yesterday’s rain had subsided overnight, leaving the remnant of a grey sky, dotted with shards of brightness._

_There was something comforting about the stillness. A promise that the world’s remaining pieces could keep working as cogs in the flow of day-to-day living._

_You straightened a stack of multicolored construction paper sitting on the small dining table. Surveying the impressive spread of other art supplies, necessitates were accounted for. Paper. Crayons and colored pencils. Glue sticks. Tissue paper. Pompoms and pipe cleaners. Popsicle sticks. Glitter. It was all there._

_Today marked your weekly responsibility of watching over the community’s gaggle of youngsters, along with standard librarian duties. In answer to an uproarious chorus of little voices when mentioning prospective crafts last Friday, there was no other option. One must give the crowd what they want, or else never hear the end of it._

_Eyeing shakers of glitter from_ overtop _a tilted tumbler, you were grateful for the caffeinated contents. Sparkling flecks would surely be found in every possible nook and cranny for the next year. But what was an artsy endeavor without a touch of glitter? You couldn’t deny budding artists an opportunity for creative expression. So, you accepted the inevitable chaos with a small smile and release of the straw._

_Coffee sloshed from within the receptacle as you jumped slightly, startled by a knock at the door._

_You expected to hear Frankie’s smooth voice through the metal, considering she’d recently finished helping you with the usual process of_ readying _for the day. More than likely, she’d forgotten something of hers in your room. So, with this expectation in mind, curiosity was piqued as Negan’s groggy voice came from the other side of the door._

_“Hey doll, can I come in?”_

_Your eyes flitted over to an alarm clock on the nightstand. It was only 7:00. Most days, you didn’t venture to the library until 8:00. And even then, Negan never sought you out this early. He’d always manage to appear around the corner right as you exited the room._

_Then the obvious reason for your guest’s sudden appearance came into view. A reminder in the form of his leather jacket, laying across the couch dividing your space. Frankie had placed it there while assisting you in preparation for bed the night before. Her green eyes all but popped out of their sockets when she had walked in, the trademark garment still draped around you. Her grin had been a mile wide, and you’d needed to vigorously shush her excited squeals._

_“Yeah, come on in. It’s unlocked,”_

_Angling to greet the door as it slowly swung open,_ Negan _was revealed, propped up by the frame. A relaxed smile brightened his demeanor, and your mouth flexed in kind. A warmth took root in your belly under his gaze alone._

_“Mornin’.” While the word held a fresh-from-sleep huskiness, his appearance was nothing less than polished. A pristine white t-shirt with the accent of a knotted crimson scarf, paired with fitted jeans leading to newly cleaned boots. The only piece missing from this familiar ensemble was the jacket._

_“Good morning, Negan. You’re up and at ‘em early today,” you noted gently. “Knew you’d miss your jacket.” Setting the lidded mug on the table, you reached for your waiting joystick, aiming to return the borrowed article._

_“I’m not here for that.” The shadow of a chuckle on his breath now joined the smile._

_Letting your hand remain over the mechanism, you paused in place. “Oh,” you said, quietly perplexed. Thankfully, he went on without further prompting._

_“There’s been a change in plan.” He broke the threshold, carrying himself with an agile stride. You pivoted to match his advance across the floor until you were facing the table again. Leaning on the only clear corner of the furniture piece, his form cast an encapsulating height. His stare was momentarily contemplative, quieted thoughts flickering in the reflective glints._

_When he finally spoke, his tone verged on exasperation. “I’m gonna split for the weekend. Jas and his scouts made it back last night, rantin’ and ravin’ about some business park they found. It’s damn far out, but it could work as the larger outpost I’ve been after.”_

_You offered an attentive nod, sensing the downfall in his newly manifested irritation._

_“Problem is,” he went on, lifting knitted brows. “The dead are running amuck through the place, and now we gotta go play clean-up crew. So, me, Simon, and usuals are heading out. We’re taking the opportunity to pay a few other communities a visit, too. Hittin’ all the stops while cruising through their neck of the woods.”_

_Disobeying concentration on his explanation, an unwelcome image of the man before you, swarmed by reanimated corpses, bombarded your mind. Your stomach twisted in protest._

_While the gruesome worry resisted banishment, a question of the leader’s ostensibly hesitant rumination arose. A chance to exercise and exert unmatched conquest was usually an invigorating perk of the title for him. But Negan lacked gusto in regards to this outing._

_His voice reemerged before this internalized fret could mar your expression. Petulance dissolved back into a satisfied smirk, “Since you and I are best buddies,_ thought _I should let ya’ know why you won’t be seein’ my handsome motherfuckin’ mug around the joint. Only seemed polite to break the news in person.”_

_A wave of laughter crested the concern as another smile found its way to your lips. Invigorated by a mischievous spark, you prodded with playful skepticism. “Are we best friends, Negan?” Employing your mug as a prop of confident punctuation, you pulled it back to your chest, nails tapping softly against the aluminum._

_He dipped inward, crafting an intimate proximity by shirking the empty rift. “Hell yes, we are.” He drew out the phrase with charismatic precision. “Or, at least I hope so.” The unexpected softness of his lopsided grin was criminally disarming. And the added sincerity left you teetering on the cusp of saying too much. It was interactions like this that all-to-eagerly projected the rosy hues of idealist daydreams._

_Reflexively, you looked down into the small opening of your cup’s lid, tightly gripping its handle with the fingers that ached to trace his face._

_Refusing to allow your constructed resolve to atrophy beyond resilient patchwork, the shield of humorous banter was swiftly deployed as you eyed Negan again. Feigning ponder, your cheeks ballooned with a dramatically held breath. The air escaped as you shrugged in acceptance. “Well, I see no reason to argue with that. Should I start making our friendship bracelets mow?” you teased, reflecting a smile._

_Negan withdrew his closeness as a surprisingly genuine laugh left him, “I’m waiting on it, doll.” Looking over his shoulder, he pointed to the myriad of art supplies, “Seems like you’re already well on the fuckin’ way. The kiddos must be in for a treat. What’s the occasion?”_

_“Popsicle stick and pipe cleaner gardens. To celebrate spring,” you replied, a question mark hanging on the last few words as you glanced the windowed dreary overcast._

_He nodded, a gesture of smirking assessment. “So, it’s basically just gonna turn into a pack a’ rugrats runnin’ wild, covered in glue and sparkly shit, pokin’ each other with sticks?” Pleased with his prediction, a stubble-encased grin persisted at your expense._

_You opened your mouth to disagree, but faltered before getting a word out. “More than likely, yeah,” Laughing in acceptance, you ran a free hand over your face._

_“Awww,” he cooed lightheartedly, caught somewhere between ribbing and comfort. “I’m sure you can wrangle ‘em, darlin’. I’m just saying,” he patted your shoulder with a gloved hand, “I’d rather take my chances with the dead.”_

_Staving off another laugh, you brought the straw to your mouth, poised for a sip. “Wimp,” you whispered smilingly into the thin piece of plastic._

_The hyperbolic shock painted across Negan’s face made it all the more difficult to keep your chortle at bay. He took on a variation of your previously doubtful expression; a banner of pride and challenge broadened his pearly display further._

_“What did you just call me?” he purred. Cupping the ear closest to you, he shifted inches inward. “You wanna run that by me again? I’d love to hear it.”_

_The heat earlier rooted in your abdomen rekindled itself aggressively, branching southward with no warning. His electrifying intensity, his way of twisting the atmosphere, his ability to turn the pointless passionate. It was this combustible flare that left a scorching imprint._

_Quickly diverting attention from the desirous sensation, you fabricated innocence. “Hmm? No, I didn’t say anything!” you promised, jovial sarcasm evident. With another sip, you pointed to the coffee pot, “Coffee?”_

_Watchful orbs stayed glued to you for a silent second, a simmering appraisal. The tip of a tongue that was obviously struggling to hold back slid across an equally zealous bottom lip. Abandoning the wealth of suggestion surely cloaked beneath the given mannerisms, a thoughtful, “Huh,” was the only acknowledgment given. Wordless affirmation culminated in his steps, resonate with_ ponder _, as though reluctant to abandon incoming ideas._

_The squeaky hinge of a cabinet was followed by the glide of a glass carafe and pouring of its liquid. With back still turned, sugar was scooped from the available trio of countertop canisters._

_“And to think,” Negan facetiously mulled aloud, “such cutting force coming from our very own sweet little librarian and caregiver.” He spun around, retracing his path while swirling a spoon in the full Styrofoam cup._

_Returning to the table, he retained an upright posture, simply resting a hip on its wooden corner. As a small curl of steam floated upwards, the ghost of a smirk curved alongside. “Who would’ve guessed?” he concluded from behind his raised cup._

_Slumping into the backrest of your chair, you mirrored that smirk. “You said it yesterday. Never judge a book by its cover. I’m sure you know that goes for people, too.” Unintentionally, the phrase had morphed from teasing to candid by the quip’s end. Even more unexpected, Negan responded concurrently._

_“Fuck yeah. I’ll drink to that,” he said, lifting his beverage in solidarity before taking a gulp._

_This sudden temperance of the exchange revived_ previous _apprehension. You took a moment to consider your next comment, studying Negan’s profile as he was preoccupied with a spot on the nearest wall._

_“So,” you breached the subject, voice calling back his attention, hazel eyes intently marking the indicators of your trepidation. “This clear-out mission, do you think it’ll be easy?” Safe._ Safe _was the word you wanted to use._

_“Easy enough. It’s the same damn song and dance with all of these places. Take it floor by floor, exterminate the dead, and keep asses movin’. I’m just there to make sure none of these folks get a chunk taken out of ‘em in the process. Bash heads of the_ corpsey _cockroaches littering my future place of business.” At the last phrase, his dimples appeared._

_His assurance was a persuasive sway, allowing a degree of peace to soothe your distress. “Sounds like you’ve got it under control.”_

_Another beat of silent observation passed before Negan responded. It felt like he was measuring your inner workings. “_ Abso _-fucking-_ lutly _. Always.” His mouth was again blocked by the upwards tilt of cup._

_Breaking eye contact, you watched the straw bob in what was left of your own drink._

_“Another thing,” he said, suddenly abrupt. “Alden is stepping in to help while we’re out.” The words were gruff, and this tonal jolt was all the more detectable when contrasted with your earnestly positive reception._

_“Oh, awesome,” you smiled, looking up at him._

_Alden was a genuinely sweet young man. Being so near to your age, conversation flowed rapidly from the start; from generational pop_ culture, _to the trials of fending off death, at an age where life had supposedly just begun. Maybe it was a friendship of circumstance, a mere coincidence of affiliation. Nevertheless, the ties of_ congenial _connection were grounding, consoling._

_“Mmhm.” Negan’s grumble bubbled through the filter of a final swig. Lowering the echo chamber of foam, his eyes slid back over to you. “Regina’s gonna be here, too.”_

_Now it was your turn to dilute a reaction. It took potent effort to hold your expression, to prevent a fallen face and rolling eyes. “Mmm, okay.” The pitch of your response elevated enough to prick his attention. The added tight-lipped smile didn’t help in concealing spurn either, only appearing to confirm his unknown suspicion._

_His mood gleamed instantaneously, with a correspondingly cocky reveal of teeth. “You don’t like Regina,” he stated, placing his empty cup on the table. “Why?”_

_“What? I never said that I didn’t like Regina! What would make you think that?” you scoffed._

_He buzzed a finger in front you face, an animated act of deduction. “Well, for a start, it was the sour look that flew across your face just now,” he said, putting his hand down. “Ya’ know, the one your tryin’ to hide from me right now. Yeah, no fuckin’ dice, princess. So, spill.”_

_You focused on the remainder of your coffee in lieu of speaking. Looking toward the window, you caught Negan’s lingering eyes in_ periphery _._

_“Y/N,” he coaxed. “I know there’s a somethin’ buggin’ you, and I wanna see what I can do about it.”_

_Upon only air flowing through the straw, there was no other option than to realign on him, with his bearded chin now lifted in an anticipatory fashion._ Dismissal _was begrudgingly forsaken in his appeal for truth, surrounded by way of a sigh and cast aside tumbler._

_“I-I,” you began shakily, attempting to gloss over the awkwardness of potentially reasonless grievance. “I just don’t trust her.” You tracked him through a line of lashes, continuing before elaboration could be requested.” I know it’s dumb, but every time she’s here,” you faltered again, still struggling to find the right explanation. “It just feels like she’s aiming to take your place. Like she thinks she’s better than you in terms of running this place. I dunno, it all just rubs me the wrong way.” The sentence had degraded into a disgruntled mutter by its end._

_“Well, look at you,” he admired breathily. The contrast between a chiding expectation and the reality of his calm response lured your coy sight line. “Are you tryin’ to protect me, darlin’?”_

_“I guess so, maybe a little. What are friends for, after all?” you chuckled nervously, a soft smile returning._

_Happy to see you parrot a portion of his earlier statement, his given smile expanded, now a pointed grin. “True. In that case, lemme return the favor and lift that weight off your shoulders.” Pulling the lone dining chair across the floor, he claimed the seat as it was angled toward you._

_Clasped hands dangled between his knees, leather and skin interlocked. Usual pomp and circumstance fell to the wayside as a serene certainty took its place. His message was delivered with an uncharacteristically peaceful resolution. “The Sanctuary is mine. Nothing and nobody will change that until the day I am dead and gone. If Regina forgets that, I highly suggest paying her no mind what-so-fuckin’-ever. Not that you need my permission to go with your gut, but ya’ sure as hell got it anyway.”_

_The auspicious smile reappeared as his posture relaxed into the creaky chair. Holding tattooed arms out in a spacious expanse of confidence, he continued, “No need to worry, doll. No one is takin’ my fuckin’ place.” A warm chortle decorated the promise, “The real thing will always be here to brighten your day.”_

_Concealing an influx of joy failed as the corners of your mouth twitched. You couldn’t help but take comfort in his words. The appreciation of, ‘I wouldn’t want it any other way,’ halted at the barrier of your lips. You only nodded in answer._

_Negan’s gaze minimized, eyes a pair of investigative slits, lips now equally thinned by a circumspect smirk. “Gonna let me in on what you’re thinkin’ now?”_

_To escape the honesty of your own grin, you set irises on the untouched jacket hung over the couch. “I’m thinking ” you clarified, pulling away from the table, and wheeling behind the sofa. “If you’re heading out, you’ll be needing this back.” Yanking the heavy swathe onto your lap, you ran a_ smoothing _hand over the aged hide._

_Before you could turn to face him, shuffling feet brought pause via a delicate squeeze of your shoulder. A skyward glance called heedfulness to Negan’s cocked brow and softened jawline, pensive embers dancing amidst his features. “You don’t wanna keep_ ahold _of it while I’m out?”_

_“N-no, I couldn’t,” you sputtered hurriedly. You had been shocked when he’d insisted on lending his jacket in the first place, let alone gifting it for extended loan. “But thank you.” Presenting a smile, you held the coat overhead as high as your muscles would permit._

_Registering this struggle in holding the jacket up, he was quick to accept, deliberately gentle in his movements. “No need to thank me, doll. Whatever you want, I’ll do it.”_

_You knew that his words were the epitome of honesty, in every possible context. You found yourself once again looking away, trying to blockade your mind from his relentless perception. But despite the diversion, Negan appeared to be on the same path of your memory. The glimmer already_ present _in his eyes burned brighter, an encapsulated firework released as you reconnected your gaze with his, ”I know.” The quiet gratitude was unmistakable._

_Taking a step backward, he allotted space for the rotation of tires. Shrugging into the returned possession as you righted your trajectory, well-defined biceps, and toned shoulders were hidden beneath the thick fabric. His elongated, lean form overshadowed you in another encompassing impression._

_In the momentary rustle of leather and cotton, your eyes followed in a fog of unbridled lust, clouding the repression of emotion. Positioned in front of Negan’s pillared stature, tingling palms ignited an urge_ for given _and reciprocated touch. That wish quickly wove itself into an ephemeral fantasy. Daydreams of his firm grasp lifting you to him, unapologetically crushing his mouth to yours. Laying on the nearby mattress, and solidifying a shared, carnivorous frenzy._

_Captivated by this alternate possibility, it was too late to appear otherwise occupied when the head atop those chiseled shoulders aimed downward, casting upon you directly. Hubris configured his lips into a sharpened smirk, aplomb bright as the row of teeth uncovered when he evaluated your wanton smolder._

_“So,” Negan lengthened the word expectantly, “If you’re gonna sit there and fuckin’ undress me with those pretty eyes of yours, are ya’ gonna at least pay me a compliment, or somethin’?” he nudged._

_Warmth promptly spread across your cheeks as wandering eyes widened. His dark brows peaked, clearly delighted as your mouth opened and closed a few times, searching for a cover from the flirtation-laced wondering.” I didn't… I wasn’t… I-“_

_Playing up a jaded inflection, he interrupted, “Look, I know that I am indeed the sweetest piece of eye candy around here. Hell, it’s been said one could develop a cavity just layin’ eyes on yours truly. But, that doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings, Y/N,” he placed a hand over his heart, mimicking sincerity with a victorious grin._

_Supporting an elbow on the favored armrest, your forehead found your palm briefly. Through a giggle, mortification ebbed. “You’re right, Negan. I really should uphold my manners. My deepest apologies for staring.” Admiration joyfully bowed your mouth, and genuine praise accidentally resurfaced in connection with the playful back-and-forth. “You’re looking lovely. Ready to take on whatever’s thrown your way.”_

_Negan appeared taken aback by the earnestness of your compliment. “Shit,” he padded the profanity with gratefulness, splitting it into two distinct syllables. “That means a lot, coming from you, doll. Flattery gets me every time.”_

_“I’m not saying that just to fluff your ego. I mean it.”_

_He nodded slowly, “I know you do. That’s why it means a fuck ton.” Tucking his scarf into his coat, it was zipped, allowing deep red to fold over the lapels. Determined to keep your eyes_ busied _, you repeated inspection of the arrangement of crafting materials from afar._

_“Cozy, huh?” He said, gesturing to the leather._

_Memories of the slick fabric hanging from you, his scent floating all around you, came back instantly. Another smile sprouted, “Yeah. Very warm, too.”_

_The residual success stayed in place as Negan adjusted the scarf around his neck, “Told you it would keep ya’ toasty.”_

_Watching him fail to arrange the adornment, your restraint wavered as withheld thought materialized into an offer. “Want some help?”_

_His flashbulb shock faded into sizzling intrigue, “Yes please, darlin’” The acceptance was a throaty rumble, reverberating in every inch of your body. Your physical responses openly worked against the attachment to denial, an act of stubborn allure._

_This incarnated argument only increased in_ struggle _as Negan sank to his knees in front of you. In practicality, it was done to offer himself in a reachable fashion, politely bridging vast height disparities. However, the parallels linking the current situation and yesterday’s encounter was lost on neither of you; said familiarity was no accident._

_Moving focus away from his face, you realigned the creased accessory, keeping your touch soft._

_“I’m not made_ a'glass _, doll. I won’t break,” he benevolently chuckled._

_You inhaled an answering_ titter _, “I know you won’t. But there’s no reason I shouldn’t be gentle anyway.” As you reconnected eyes with him, an undiscernible ardor lit his face. Noticing your hands still grazing the looped cotton, you retracted with a minimal jerk._

_Dark brows furrowed,” I don’t bite, either,” he added._

_Reaching outward, his fingertips dusted over the bars that were your tense, anxiously fisted digits. “Relax.” The singular word was jarringly supplicating, and your body complied with no resistance._

_This loosening of knuckle caused your fingers to limply entwine with his. And despite what was believed to be better judgment, you didn’t pull away. Neglecting and suppressing desires from within was doable, even commonplace at this point. But the physical manifestations of Negan’s effects on you refused to be hidden beneath the cloak of internal monologue. You couldn’t just ignore the cinders floating along the area where your skin touched his; couldn’t just ignore the flood of endorphins upon his insistence for relaxation. Intoxicated by his presence, a drifting consciousness unabashedly welcomed unfiltered thought._

_“You don’t bite, hmm? I have a hard time believing that.” The push and pull, covetousness and forbearance, a dichotomy of yearning packaged within your bitten-back grin and beckoning phrase._

_“Nope, “ he enticed. “Well, not unless you_ wa _-”_

_“Negan? Sir?” The introduction of a third voice, partnered with the opening of elevator doors and approaching footsteps, cut through his reply_

_Both you and Negan looked through the open door to see Alden making his way down the hall. As though you’d been cast back into a sobering reality, you broke away from the brief entanglement._

_He staggered just outside the entrance to your room, consternation reddening his face. Negan simply grunted unhappily in response to his arrival. Alden took a step back, rubbing the nape of his neck. “Sorry. I, uh, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”_

_You empathized with his uncertainty, considering the possible interpretation of what he was seeing. But before you could alleviate contention, Negan spoke, making no effort to hide his embittered rise. “But you did. So it better be fuckin’ worth it.” Stomping over to the young Savior, he snatched Lucille from an unsure hold. “And why in the fuck do you have Lucille?” The question was warped by snarling impatience._

_Alden struggled for words under Negan’s unforgiving_ scrutiny, _but managed to stitch together a reply. “Simon,” he pointed his thumb in the direction of the elevator. “He told me to find you.” His eyes darted over to you, and then returned to the leader. “The scout crew, they’re ready to move out. And Gary caught me on my way up, said you left it-I mean, her in the conference room after the meeting. Must’ve been in a rush, huh?” He chuckled uncomfortably, attempting to ease the tension._

_Negan’s accusatory acidity did not lessen, “Apparently, they’ve forgotten who’s in charge.” Alden only shuffled his feet in the steely silence, and you took the opportunity to defuse the exchange._

_“It’s great to see you, Alden. Thanks for passing along the message.” You kept your voice welcoming, imparting the sensitivity Negan’s remarks lacked._

_Relief loosened his shoulders as he looked your way again. Outstretching your arms, you invited the usual greeting of a hug._

_Stepping around the barricade of the taller man, Alden gladly copied the gesture. He bent at the waist as you rose from your seat slightly, making the embrace possible. “Y/N,” he said genially, “always a pleasure to see the coolest librarian I know.”_

_Releasing him, you laughed knowingly, “Ah, buttering me up again, I see. You must be in need of new reads.”_

_”Yeah, I am. But I still think you’re the coolest librarian. And by the look of all this stuff,” he turned attention to the organized clutter on the table behind you, “the kids will agree.”_

_As you moved to respond, Negan obstructed the conversation sternly, hard lines of irascibility carved into his face. “Hate to rain on this little powwow, but mind fuckin’ telling me which parking bay Simon assigned?”_

_You shot Negan a disappointed glance. Upon catching said stare, he visibly bristled before tearing eyes away._

_“Right, sorry, sir._ They’re _are lined up at the front gate.”_

_Negan only growled, making a path back to where his empty cup sat. “Mind if I take some more?” he asked, eyeing the last of the small coffee pot. The question had an apologetic undertone, unspoken repentance aimed at you alone._

_“Sure.” You watched him go through the motions of preparing a fresh cup, keenly aware of Alden standing cautiously near._

_When again turned about-face, his eyes were confined to you. His chin jutted to walkie attached to your belt loop. “By tomorrow night, we’ll likely be out of range until we get other receivers set up for this new acquisition. But if you need any of us out there before then, call.”_

_“Always, of course.” Your tranquility dampened the harshness in the air, and Negan inhaled, taking a drink of his beverage._

_“I promise we’ll hold the fort while your gone, boss,” you continued with an airy chortle, encouraging the previously pleasant atmosphere. His features rippled in blatant anticipation as he swallowed another swig._

_Witticism slid effortlessly from between his smirking lips as long legs strode toward the door,” I know you will.” He turned on his heel, Lucille resting on his right shoulder, and the cup enclosed in his left hand. “That’s_ why, _should shit hit the fan, you’re in charge, Y/N.”_

_“Very funny,_ Negan _,” you congratulated, letting eyes roll benignly._

_“Who said I was kiddin’, doll?” He winked, and turned on Alden, aggression still percolating from beneath manufactured calm. “Make those scrawny arms useful and help the lovely lady carry her things to the library. My awaiting team obviously needs a lesson in patience.” With jaw flexed taunt, his digits replicated the tightening around Lucille’s handle._

_“I’d be happy to,” Alden broke his intimated speechlessness with a dip of the head._

_The leader’s strain still did not recede with this additional compliance. His answer was scant, a curt nod and muffled rasp. With no further goodbye, he stormed out into the hall with a matching gust in stalking pursuit of the elevator._

_Your heartbeat thudded roughly amid his tumultuous exit, an unforeseen swell of restlessness. Before the action could be second-guessed, you_ sped _to the threshold, craning around the doorframe._

_“Negan! Wait!”_

_His form froze in its increasing retreat. A breath’s pause elapsed in turning to address your call._

_Your mouth opened slack, but no words formed. That thought was aching to be acknowledged, but in warring antithesis, that same truth coiled its way around your vocal_ chords _, ceaselessly constricting in the demand for muted exposure. Regardless of the inner battle, you successfully croaked “Just, be careful out there. Stay safe.” Though it was a timid wish, you had managed to force it out, despite the doubt churning your stomach._

_His face smoothed as jubilance perked his expression. “Yes ma'am, I most certainly fuckin’ will.” His playful candor was another assuaging guarantee. A gratified exhalation passed through the corridor._

_“Be back soon. You keep yourself safe, too. And keep the young gun in line.” His lips stretched to frame a parting grin. Once satisfied with your mirrored contentment, he twisted his footing, destined for the elevator once more._

_Watching his silhouette disappear around the corner, you let go of the doorframe. Allowing your torso to lean into the padding of the wheelchair’s backrest, your heartbeat remained a pattern of jagged hiccups. Splintering stitches._

_Alden’s stare was expectant as you spun a tight circle. His arms remained crossed as you hastened a return to the collection of supplies. After gathering a stack of paper in your lap, you dared a look in the direction of the remaining visitor._

_“So, when’s the wedding?” he asked._

_After an instinctual sneer, you held deadpan, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”_

_“Oh,_ c'mon _, Y/N. Don’t play dumb on this. It’s clear as day.”_

_“Is it now?” Your challenge was dry and uninterested, but brewing resentment bolstered the rhetorical question’s volume._

_“Yeah. I mean, when I was told to_ come _get him, let’s just say I knew exactly where to look. Everyone at the meeting pointed me your way, too. Said Negan ripped out of the room like a bat outta hell… Forgot the bat even.” His play on words fell flat, and he knew it._

_Scoffing, you tried to remain reasonable, “I don’t know why you find that so incriminating. Yes, he came up here. He does live on this level too, ya’ know? His wives live up here. This whole scouting trip was thrown together in a rush. He was just in a hurry to let them know and leave, I’m sure. I was just an afterthought. He just needed his jacket back. End of story.”_

_“You had his jacket?”_

_You could feel aggravation further leaking into your terse sentiments. “Yes. He insisted I borrow it because it was cold in the library yesterday. So, I did. And now, he has it back.” The last phrase was firm with_ resolution _._

_“And the little scene I walked in on?’_

_“Wasn’t a scene. We were chatting. We’re allowed to talk to one another.” Conversation surly wasn’t the feature of the interaction he was questioning, but you had no intention of standing down. You owed him no explanation._

_“Sure, you absolutely are. Never said otherwise, never would,” he placated, obviously disbelieving. “But don’t you wonder why he gave you this particular apartment? At arms reach for him?”_

_The arrival of his all-knowing smirk vaporized your reservoir of enduring patience. Fingers clenched around the stack of paper, crinkling its edges. “Why the hell do you even care?” you spat, verging on a shout. “Why are you pushing this?”_

_The expectation was that he would backtrack, cover up his claims using the promise of a misunderstood joke. But instead, he uncrossed his arms, placing his hands into their corresponding pockets as a lull followed the outcry._

_“Because you care about him.”_

_You made a move to retort, but your input was impeded by a pointed shake of his head. “I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. Yeah, I can’t say I’m a fan of the guy. But whenever I see you two together, he’s different. Like he might have a heart in there, somewhere,“ he marveled dryly. “And everyone sees the way he looks at you. It’s the same way you look at him, actually.”_

_He silenced, searching for an answer beyond your now torn away gaze. But you were at a loss, caught between far too few, and far too many explanations. Keeping eyes on your shoes, sullenness descended upon the stillness. “He does have a heart, don’t treat him like he doesn’t. And what is it you want me to say here? That you’re right?” The tremor in your intended fortitude tasted of loss._

_“No,” he sighed softly, ”I just know that denying yourself happiness is wasting time that you can’t be guaranteed tomorrow. Hell, that’s the way it’s always been. The hard fact of it is just a lot more in our faces now, with the dead creeping around every corner.” He seemed to be talking to himself just as much as he was talking to you._

_Looking back at him, the friction noticeably reduced. His eyes exuded caring imploration, ”You deserve to be happy. That’s all I’m saying.”_

_“Thank you, “ you said with the concession of heaving lungs. “But as much as I appreciate your concern, I need to get to work. Are you gonna help me or not?” The wonder was one of tired surrender. Thankfully, Alden ceased his insistence with a nod, gathering supplies from the table._

_“’Course,” he gave a mending smile, briskly padding to the still open door_.

* * *

With another huff, absentmindedness blazed forth into frustration. Abrasively yanking yourself upright, you returned to hunching over the book, grasping desperately at an evaporating sense of motivation. The task at hand wasn’t at all difficult. In fact, it was downright simplistic. Take notes on discussion topics for the upcoming book club meeting.

As the librarian, your responsibilities extended to running The Sanctuary’s growing book club. When the extracurricular position had been created, you’d taken it without question. It was another cherished snapshot of everyday life before death permeated it so obtrusively. It was a small thing, but it was comforting in its normalcy.

In attempts to reconnect with the absorption of busywork, you threw the book open, vigorously flipping through it until spotting the quote you wished to copy. Once found, pen strokes bled heavy onto the set aside the pad of paper.

 

> **“These violent delights have violent ends**
> 
> **And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,**
> 
> **Which, as they kiss, consume. The sweetest honey**
> 
> **Is loathsome in his own deliciousness**
> 
> **And in the taste confounds the appetite.**
> 
> **Therefore love moderately. Long love doth so.**
> 
> **Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.” –**
> 
> **Romeo and Juliet**
> 
> **Act 2, Scene 6**
> 
>  

Nearing the page’s end, the ink of your pen sputtered, running progressively lighter as written words multiplied. The action of pen to paper was sustained until the notebook was scarred with only indents of your print.

Discouraged, you let the now useless writing utensil hit the tabletop. The thought of admitting a completed night’s work felt more like resigning yourself to another recursively sleepless night. A procrastinated fate worth recoiling at.

Resolute in forgetting the nausea of a pitted stomach, you pulled away from the desk, aiming to fetch necessitates for continued progress.

Atop the main checkout counter sat a squat vase, stuffed to the brim with assorted office supplies. In a haphazard urgency to prolong deflection, you stretched an already exhausted body over the wide, wooden panel in desperate reach. Trembling legs flexed in an effort to lift you from the foam seat cushion. However, this initiated task was brought to a screeching halt. Joint pain locked your knees as replacement pen was plucked from the unorganized bouquet.

Imprisoned by the unyielding vice of a fatigue-driven muscular spasm, you were ripped downward, hurling back into the seat. This toppling force resulted in the glass receptacle and all its contents being flung into your lap and raining to the floor. The crescendo of shattering glass echoed alongside clattering chaos, masking the gasp that sprung from you. Slicing pain seared your fingertips, and unwanted warmth immediately began trickling down their length.

“Shit,” you whispered, watching blood spill over a thin gash spanning the first two digits of your dominant hand. The cause of this wound sat precariously atop your jean-clad leg. A letter opener, crafted to resemble a medieval dagger, now had a deep red smear painting the blade.

Lacking time to lament the bad luck of finding a needle in a haystack, you gingerly stashed the bloodied instrument in a sweatshirt pocket, hurrying to the other end of the counter. Care was overlooked in favor of expediency as pens and pencils snapped beneath your movement. Once in shaky reach of the only available bandage solution, you took a bundle of tissue from the presented box, fashioning a temporary wrap that would still allow basic joystick manipulation.

You latched focus on the closed door, employing the corresponding palm against your chair’s throttle. The scattered mess of unfinished chores throughout the room would now have to wait until morning. There was the option to walkie for assistance, but by the time someone would’ve arrived to help, you could be back in your room with a fresh Band-Aid applied. Settling on the latter choice to stifle inflated embarrassment, one could almost hear Negan’s omnisciently disapproving growl as needed aid was rejected.

Pausing within the threshold of the exit, you fumbled in scrambling to hit the nearby light switch. When the space was as dark as the night sky above, you exerted all summoned strength to swing the heavy door. Careening your chair backward with a matching coordination of connected joystick, your non-dominant hand remained secured around the door handle. This aggressive pull and release successfully sent the blockage rebounding on its hinges.

Rushing through the quickly shrinking gap, all four tires made contact with pavement, escaping just as the slamming closure exploded through ghostly chilled air.

A vast cement expanse separated the library from the main Sanctuary quarters. When traversed alone, the distance was weighted with uneasy solitude; only emptiness connected homing anchors on a map.

Following the guidance of the well-worn commute, tonight’s trek was engulfed by the persistent burn in n your shielded fingers. Increasing speed of departure, the overhead lights splashing the bungalow’s exterior were swiftly swallowed by the opaque night.

* * *

Growth of the sanguinary stain beneath the makeshift bandage began slowing as The Sanctuary’s answering luminescence finally prevailed despite the glaring darkness. With your approach came the snarling attention of the dead. The rattle of your wheelchair beating against uneven paver had roused their otherwise aimless fixture.

Oxidized chain link repeatedly bit into decayed flesh as stationed corpses writhed upon their steel pikes. An array of hands and mouths groped at nothingness, the gnashing of teeth still horrific in spite of its forced normality. You kept your focal point trained stiffly ahead, purposely avoiding the sets of milky eyes. At a distance, you could handle other features of the reanimated without much upset, but not the eyes. There was an unsettlingly reminder of humanity trapped in their sickly gawks.

Continuing along the fenced path, you aligned yourself with its opposite edge, maintaining maximum separation from the string of dead.

* * *

Further closing in on the main compound, the pressed gravel split into branching ribbons that extended toward other utility outbuildings.

Coming to the first fork in the pathway, you swerved to follow its right curve, grateful for the buffer of these smaller constructions. Once hidden behind the first in the row of structures, a hurried pace slowed to a steady hum. The squared off shadows shrouded you against the sky.

This covert safeguard remained unpenetrated until a diffused glow, highlighting The Sanctuary’s back entrance, stretched across your shoes.

It was then that dragging breath of the living surfaced above the groans of weaponized corpses; an unnervingly close warning. The telltale signs of physical strain seemed to hitch the air, depleting the circulating oxygen.

You stopped short, adrenaline bolting through your bloodstream. Tilting the joystick in desperation to maintain anonymity, clicking engagement of the motor was prevented by withholding gesticulation. Leaning forward as discreetly as the creaky wheelchair would permit, you peered out from behind the barrier of a repurposed shed. In mimicry of a newly pounding pulse, your lacerated fingers resumed oozing. Your eyes darted around the exhibited source, fright rendering them unfocused.

Dean, a man you only knew because of his nightly watch duties, had his hands mercilessly wrapped around Negan’s neck. They were interlinked in confrontation, grunting exertion falling hard on the shambling clash of attempted defense. Both men were evenly stocked in all physical measure, but despite his clawing nails and flailing kicks, Negan’s body was beginning to sag where it was pinned to the back entrance. With every chaotic escape effort, a wheezing grasp at consciousness was stolen by Dean’s stranglehold. The leader’s face reflected this restricted circulation in the flicker of a mounted lantern, a blur of protruding veins and barred teeth. In this flash of dazed trauma, Dean’s bulging tendons labored further in violent dominance.

Returning to yourself, primal protective instincts screamed the only solution. Discovery of your presence would likely expedite Negan’s looming death, meaning calling for help was no longer viable.

No, you were the only instrument of retaliation.

You had to try, make use of all available tenacity and rage.

Securing a painfully clamped fist around the hilted blade, you propelled into the confrontation, letter opener intended for the vulnerable flesh between Dean’s shirt hem and waistband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TIMELINE OF EVENTS THUS FAR:**
> 
> ~ The entirety of Part 1: Takes place in the active present.
> 
> – Unseen passage of six months –
> 
> ~ The first sentence of Part 2: “You gave your head a little shake in an effort to clear it.” – The ONLY portion of this chapter that takes place in the active present.
> 
> ~ All other non-italicized activities/events of Part 2: Y/N reminiscences about events of the unseen six months.
> 
> ~ It’s revealed in Part 3 that all the reminiscence/flashback of Part 2 (and the flashback of Part 3) occur while Y/N’s trying to study in the library (which is in the active present.) This study session is where we find her and pick up with at the beginning of Part 3.
> 
> ~ The italicized portion of Part 2: Flashback to an encounter/event five days prior to Y/N’s current position in the active present.
> 
> ~ The italicized portion of Part 3: Another flashback, taking place the day after the events of Part 2’s flashback sequence. Part 3’s flashback encounter would thus have taken place four days prior to the active present.
> 
> ~ All other non-italicized activities/events of Part 3: Takes place in the active present.


	4. A Sleeping Mind – [Bonus Content/Extended Scene] ;

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonus Content/Extended Scene Synopsis: At this point, frequent dreams about Negan are a common feature of your restless nights. As dreams do, some fade into the blur of waking hours, while others leave a lasting impression, like a footprint in the snow. And with winter’s chill biting just outside your window, you find yourself submerged in the depths of slumber, with the lead Savior emerging as memorable fireside company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Here's a snippet of my original author's note on Tumblr for context:** Okay, let me explain, haha. I can imagine and completely understand that if you read Part Three, and were anticipating Part Four to pick up where that left off, this bonus content flashback may come as a frustrating surprise. Honestly, this chapter started as an attempted winter-themed challenge submission. A TBOC holiday special, to be precise. But as I worked on it, the focus of the piece shifted. Thankfully, the challenge host was so kind when I dropped the assigned prompt to chase this sudden inspiration. And because I was trying to meet a deadline prior to withdrawing, I had focused all my attention on this unforeseen additional content, instead of continuing the next chapter as I originally planned. But on the upside, you can now see one of Y/N’s infamous dreams featuring Negan (mentioned in Part Two/the excerpt included at the beginning of this chapter.) I hope you enjoy it, even though it took a different turn than expected, and once again indulged my love of writing flashbacks, haha. I promise, your questions from Part Three will be answered, just not tonight. As always, I’m so appreciative of your patience!
> 
> A big thank you to all others who helped me stay encouraged as I wrote/edited this, and all who read the finished product. You guys are all amazing. Thank you for your patience. Now, on with the fic, I’ve surely chattered on long enough. Happy reading, please read the warnings carefully!
> 
> **A written rundown of the warnings for this particular chapter (both those tagged and untagged): Smut/erotica, explicit written depictions of sex. Sexual acts happening within a dream. Sex happening in a “cheesy” location. Unprotected vaginal sex/penetration. Negan being possessive, protective, and a bit opportunistic (within dream.) Prolonged edging/orgasm denial/orgasm withholding. Begging, teasing, and praising, in a sexual context. Some sub/DOM dynamic. Voice kink, and related talking during sex. Male and female nudity/anatomy, descriptions of bodily fluids and arousal. Restriction of movement and speech abilities common in the dreamscape. Clitoral and general vulva stimulation/female masturbation during sleep. Orgasm during sleep/“wet dreams” of a female. Embarrassment regarding this experience/dream/bodily response and related aftercare cleanup. Mention of sleep talking/verbalization. Swearing. Reader’s character struggling with indecision, self-doubt, and insecurity. General “hot and cold” behavior. Talks of romantic and sexual attraction. Large age difference between main characters (***both ARE well above/over legal consenting age, though. Both are over 21 as well***) Negan showing his softer side (outside of dream.) General sexual overtones and Negan just being Negan ;).**
> 
> **Other notes:**  
>  A TIMELINE OF EVENTS THUS FAR CAN BE FOUND IN THE ENDNOTES FOR REFERENCE. 
> 
>  I really hope you enjoy this! If you want to share your thoughts and whatnot with me, I’m all ears! Thank you for taking the time to check out my profile and/or my work, in any capacity you choose to interact with it. Please know, any feedback given is treasured and wholeheartedly appreciated.  
>    
> Wanna connect elsewhere, or read/interact with my work elsewhere online? You can find me on Tumblr, under the same handle: 'itsjustafeelingthatihave' - This is my personal and fandom blog, so you get a bit of everything over there!
> 
>  
> 
> **MY FICS ARE INTENDED FOR ADULTS (18+ AUDIENCES) ONLY. THEY WILL BE RATED/TAGGED/GIVEN WARNINGS AS THOROUGHLY AS POSSIBLE. PLEASE HEED ANY AND ALL INFO PROVIDED BEFORE/WHEN READING.**  
>   
> 

_‘You had managed to anchor to this stubborn internal mantra with flimsy petulance. That is, until the aforementioned sweet dreams enveloped your unconscious. The spearhead of The Saviors now held claim over the wanderings of your sleeping mind. His pull was relentless. A dizzyingly hypnotic orbit. When you finally fell into a restless sleep each night, your brain ran wild with the fulfillment of chronically repressed urges. Like clockwork, you’d awaken to the sound of your own dazed voice whimpering his name into the void of a pillow._ ’ The Burden of Caring – Part Two: Exhibition of Forbidden Fruit.

* * *

Your joints creaked stiffly as you stretched beneath rumpled bedding. Beyond the walls, winter weather struck the air with fluttering snow and icy wind. The plummeting temperature was not kind to your tired body and did nothing to invite a good night’s sleep. Indications of this restlessness buzzed around the enclosed space in muffled resonance. Another vivid dream spilled across the darkened depths of sporadic slumber. Ephemeral wisps of this hazy whirlwind remained intact, persistently floating behind your closed lids.

The gleaming, crimson glow of heart-shaped string lights accented an ornately crafted fireplace, where the cracklings of contained flames mingled with labored breathing.

In a series of disjointed vignettes, common within recollections of a sleeping mind, focus then shifted to Negan’s bare form hovering above you. Warm reflections of the given sources appeared to illuminate his outline, casting a glowing aura that emanated solely from him. In another sparking realization, there was cognizance of his frame carefully pinning you to the plush rug beneath your naked body. The sensuous illustration of prevailing restraint partnered in cruel perfection with a growing pulse reverberating through your core.

It was a slow recognition process, encapsulated in the daze of illusory happenings, to make the connection between visuals of his thrusting endeavor, and a budding arousal response. But as the nature of this entanglement pieced itself together, you melted wantonly into his libidinous ministrations.  Under siege of promising stimulation, your nails shallowly scraped at the panel floor surrounding the pillowed mat, searching for grip.

Through this descending lustrous fog, Negan’s eyes glittered knowingly. He leaned inward, soft speech aimed at your ear as his lips grazed the sensitive curve of cartilage. “Why don’t you just be honest with yourself, darlin?” he questioned, voice maintaining a strangely distant echo despite his proximity. With each repetitious drag against aching walls, his length continued to glide in and out of you at a frustratingly languid pace.

Willfully ignoring your squirming plea for ahastenedpace and correspondingly increased friction, he only hummed a tempered chortle, replacing a lacking conversational engagement. His words never wavered in their teasingly silken temptation. A rolling purr, in time with the slow lunge and retract pattern of his hips, “Is this what you want from me?”

You could only produce an affirmative whimper as your mouth opened slack. That minimal verbalization was enough to snap him back into an overhead position. Dark brows creased in feigned confusion, but the usual aplomb remained in a showcase of his upturned lips. “Then tell me… Doesn’t pretending like you don’t want me get tiring? After all this time, aren’t you exhausted from constantly holdin’ back?’

As if to further entice the unabashed honesty etched into your breathy moans, his movements began to culminate in the assertive force you craved. All ponder quickly dissolved into the billowing allure of impending climax. Falling unimpeded into the incendiary transfixion of such lustful frenzy, your vision began blurring, bound by the barrage of rapturous fulfillment. Negan fazed in and out of crisp clarity, in waves similar to a heartbeat, from the perception of your glassy gaze. Yearning to anchor yourself to him as satisfaction rose, you made an effort to coordinate the pull of an embrace, but succumbed to the powerless dream state fatigue before achieving movement.

He clicked his tongue in animated pity, moving his hand to where yours lay open, just above your head. With entwined fingers, your trembling digits were held in place. The encompassing warmth and gentle pressure of his grip granted the wished contact, while still preserving a tantalizing dominance.

“Aw, poor doll,” he crooned in ribbing observation of the failed reach. “Don’t worry, I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

His captive stare unrelentingly seared across your desperate expression, radiating the molten heat of confidence. The intensity behind his appraisal and drawn out, dedicated caresses plucked skillfully at the wound coil of pleasure in your lower abdomen. Ascending to fulfillment was beginning to resemble an endless drudge, kept irretrievable by mere fingertips

Refusing to leave a pending question in the smoldering air, his insistence again reeled you back from this carnal precipice, “Those questions weren’t rhetorical. I’m gonna need answers, princess.”

Torturously, he suspended all thrusting, punctuating his intention with an abrupt denial. Sheathed inside your heat, he utilized expert control, stilling himself entirely, apart from an involuntary, anticipatory twitch of his cock. Even as you quivered in persuasive appeal of the lost massaging stimulus, concession was wordlessly dismissed.

Vexation simmered upon the unreachable horizon of unconscious imagining. However, eagerness fueled compliance, to expedite an incoming gratification and hush his interrogation. Attempting to summon your voice from the chamber of unrealized sleep proved strenuous. Despite the near shouting effort given to surrender, when the appeasement finally floated from your mouth, it was a nearly soundless mew. “Yes, Negan. I want this… Need you. Please.”

At the cue of imploration, he smirked, openly basking in this devotion. Your center rushed to exercise a reinvigorated, increasingly persistent fluttering grasp around his erection, in seemingly mirrored supplication of this spoken truth. Promising contractions squeezed in automatic synchronicity with his renewed, smooth strokes of your interior. Appreciation of this yearning determination erupted as a groan vibrating through Negan, briefly overshadowing hiccupping breath, “Right fuckin’ answer, sweetheart!”

This praise sent a shower of goosebumps blooming across your body, and your toes defenselessly flexing inward. Steeling yourself once more, you pooled the influx of energy to form a fading response, “H-harder. I’m begging, I wanna…”

Complimenting your lust-glazed stare with a devilishly haughty glint, he made another spectacle of aligning his face with yours. Closing in until noses touched, his scruff brushed your parted lips. A chuckle sent warm air fanning across your cheeks, “Well, shit. I never thought I’d see the day, never hear those magical words. My innocent little librarian, beggin’ me to fuck her harder,” he reveled. “And you wanna what?’ Cum? Have that sweet fuckin’ release after all this time of denying yourself?”

You could only manage a whimpering nod. Limbs weighted with sleep, and mind dizzyingly drunk on scorching embers imprinted upon a deft touch, you gave yourself over completely, in hope of prompting his compassion.

Quickly adjusting to sling your arms around his uncovered shoulders, Negan spoke in sated admiration. “There’s my good girl, tellin’ me the truth,” he snarled through heaving exhalation.

Motions of speech allowed a series of ghosted kisses to fall to grace needy lips. But to your begging dismay, this doting brush disappeared without prolonged tangibility, as he returned to nuzzling your overheated neck. Anticipation continually stoked a tingling effervescence that took root in your middle, broadcasting electricity across raw nerves. Melodies of desire repeatedly surfaced as far off, shallow moans, your quivering arms remaining looped around him in fervent hold. You were acutely aware of your own slickness gathering, in combination with the still unbroken, rhythmic clench hugging his dick, both reactionary aspects previewing a climactic closing.  

Left with no choice other than to acquiesce to his requirement for patience, you mustered all muscular concentration, seeking to, at the very least, keep him positioned in the timid wrap of your legs. This strive to interlock did not go unnoticed as familiar whistling drifted to hypnotically encircle your attempt. Negan’s signature tune licked at your eardrum like the nearby blaze, busied with devouring timber in the hearth.

“That’s it, babygirl. Work for it, for me,” he drawled in ardent congratulation. “Damn, look at that, just takin’ what you fuckin’ want. I knew you had some rock-solid intensity in ya’. Well, once you got me inside ya’, that is,“ he winked, amusing himself.

In another merciful reprieve, his arm suddenly moved from its post beside your head, reaching to assist your weakly undulating hips. Palming your tailbone in the rough cup of his hand, he easily lifted to cant your pelvis in favor of deeper penetration.

Bending back to accommodate such an angle, hazel eyes swam over the expanse of your skin. Your hands fell from around his neck, left to graze the dark scatter of chest hair in the torn away closeness. His attention traced the motion of your body as it rocked and arched in magnetic parallel with each physical exertion.  In the covetous limbo between the encroaching edge and euphoric abyss, the shiver within your interior halted abruptly, bargaining for the sought after jolts of completion by way of a temporary forbearance.

His prowling orbs paused in their observation in kind, dialing in on the beads of sweat collecting where your throat and shoulder met.

“‘Bout time you cum for me then, hmm, Y/N?” Negan growled conclusively, sight line venturing home to your face. The peek of teeth seen between his smirking lips captured an almost opalescent quality in the ambient firelight. You whined in earnest surprise as unexpected fireworks of sensation swirled your clitoris, nerves coaxed into a series of bursts from an unseen provocation, joining the achingly ravenous pursuit of ecstasy as it rumbled onward.

In a spontaneously blossomed quake of relief, orgasm crested; a barreling wave of spasmodic shuddering that clung to Negan’s unwavering momentum.

His gravelly chuckle immediately sprung to the surface once more as your soaked pussy sang in convulsive applause. “Careful,” he warned teasingly, touting a beaming assurance, “Don’t scream too loud, or else I might hear you out there.”

The tense craning of your neck had been the catalyzing sensation to yank you from the chasm of unconsciousness. Your lids instantly bounced open in conjunction with a gasp escaping your lips. The glaring light of morning shown over your blanketed body from adjacent windows, a stark spotlight cast on the evaporating plume of a dream, like dust dancing in the silence.

The solitary tether linking this flurry of sizzling cinders to the current moment was a throbbing clinch, shivering through your tender apex. The orgasm achieved within the freedom of dream had rung out into the bounds of reality.

Your head limply turned on the indented pillow. Newfound alertness called focal point to the knotted sheets gathered between your legs. The piled cloth rubbed alongside fingers, discovered paused in their massage of your peaked nerve bundle underneath the thin veil of your panties, with lubrication of release marking them. Letting eyesight fall obscured by lashes, heavy with resentful enjoyment of the remnant pleasure, you curled onto your side, cradling the dwindling sensation.

As the sparks extinguished and your walls calmed, a fretting exhale broke the empty silence. You readjusted again, fidgety amidst the mess of bedding as your stare settled on the ceiling above. The bedside clock confirmed mid-morning hours within your periphery.

You cursed the unavoidable daily preparations, or more definitively, the lack of privacy reflected in their necessity. In the process of aiding you, Frankie would unquestionably be made privy to this heated movement via the silky warmth that saturated your underwear. You had spent nearly half an hour, confined by the blankets as you drowned in a relentless replay of the dream encounter.  

The whirring of static shattered the spiraling cascade of memories, your waiting walkie talkie introducing Negan’s voice into the room. “Y/N? You need me?” His question was laced with such genuine concern that it perplexed you all the more.

Immediately flipping onto your front and crawling access the mattress, you stretched to grab for the radio from where it stood on the nightstand. Balancing on your elbows and holding the button, you tried to steady the tremor of bashful surprise in returned tonality as you spoke into the grated microphone.

“Uh, no, I’m fine,” you assured, pitch fluctuating with a flustered giggle, in coy reaction to his timing. “But thank you for checking in. Is everything okay?”

“Right as fuckin’ rain, doll. Sorry if I’m buggin’ ya’. Frankie just now told me she thought you were callin’ for me a bit ago, so I wanted to make sure you were okay. Didn’t know if the walkie was on the fritz again or somethin’”

Your eyes went wide, and embarrassment stiffened your fingers as they tapped the plastic edge of the communicative device. In an onslaught of vulnerability, the concern of a private moment being overheard sent heat to your face. The only assuaging element of this encounter was a delicate candor held within the lead Savior’s sentiment. Clearly, he was unaware of the reasoning behind your accidental call out to him, and Frankie had encouraged a matchmaking opportunity while preserving your dignity.

A smile softened your tension, touching your voice, “You’re not bothering me at all. Thanks for caring enough to ask. This is was a really nice wake-up call, actually.” The unintentional double meaning of this contentment, when following your sleepy fantasy, twisted your lips into a minimal grimace as you rushed to distance the memory.

Letting your head drop back to the abandoned pillow, his response emerged in what felt like direct contradiction to a wish for avoidance. “What can I say, I’m just a big motherfuckin’ sweetheart,” he flaunted. “Of course, I care. Damn pleased to be of helpful service to ya’. And on that note, should I let Frankie know you’re ready to rise, shit, and shine?”

“Negan,” you screeched in chagrined joy, proceeding his uproarious laughter.

“I’ll take that as an enthusiastic ‘Yes!’ Happy Sunday, darlin’,” he announced, gleefully boisterous, before leaving you to the empty white noise of static.

Dropping the inactive device on the bed, you kept your head resting on the fluffed linen, anxious to flee from entrenchment of thoughts.

As your eyes lazily scanned the room, attention caught a small shelf of knickknacks. The arrangement of miscellaneous trinkets was affixed underneath a textured painting of the ocean. The print sat behind glass in its artful brushstrokes, blues and greens that swooped toward an undefined skyline. Golden script floated atop the foaming waves, an inopportune musing, offered so delicately.

‘Heed the amorous wishes of a dreaming mind, for dreams, are unburdened and unafraid to reveal where a heart truly longs to be.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TIMELINE OF EVENTS THUS FAR:**
> 
> **~ The entirety of Part 1: Takes place in the active present.**
> 
> **– Unseen passage of six months –**
> 
>   **~ The first sentence of Part 2: “You gave your head a little shake in an effort to clear it.” – The ONLY portion of this chapter that takes place in the active present.**
> 
>   **~ All other non-italicized activities/events of Part 2: Y/N reminiscences about events of the unseen six months.**
> 
>   **~ (This dream/bonus content is one of the instances Y/N reminiscences about in Part 2, as illustrated by the referenced paragraph.)**
> 
>   **~ It’s revealed in Part 3 that all the reminiscence/flashback of Part 2 (and the flashback of Part 3) occur while Y/N’s trying to study in the library (which is in the active present.) This study session is where we find her and pick up with at the beginning of Part 3.**
> 
>   **~ The italicized portion of Part 2: Flashback to an encounter/event five days prior to Y/N’s current position in the active present.**
> 
>   **~ The italicized portion of Part 3: Another flashback, taking place the day after the events of Part 2’s flashback sequence. Part 3’s flashback encounter would thus have taken place four days prior to the active present.**
> 
>   **~ All other non-italicized activities/events of Part 3: Takes place in the active present.**


End file.
